'^^'''::^wT' 


FVPDUO^'c&aiUUiMIUUrHt'tU--.'' 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LIBRAKy 
GIFT  OF 

Emily  Turner 


**  The  guinea, — the  guinea,  sir,  that  you  got  from  this  cLild!  " — ^Page35 


By  MARIA  EDGEWORTH.  CHARLES  LAMB. 
MARY  LAMB.  ALICIA  C.MANV  OTHERS. 
•ILLUSTRATED- 

NEW    YORK 
MCLOUGMLIN    BROTHFRS 


Copyright,  1906,  by 
McLouGHLiN  Bros..  New  York. 


PSYCW. 
LIBRARy 


CH-V-t 


PAGE 

The    Blue    Jar 5 

The  Basket   Woman        1^ 

The    Sea    Voyage ^^ 

The    Changeling ^^ 

The    Inquisitive    Girl "^ 

The   Little    Blue    Bag •  ...  81 


2*79 


The  moment  it  was  on  the  table  Rosamond  ran  up  to  it  with  an 
exclamation  of  joy. 


p>^/ 


OOK^ 


THE  BLUE  JAR. 

MARIA  EDGE  WORTH 

ROSAMOND,  a  little  girl  about  seven  years 
of  age,  was  walking  with  her  mother  in 
the  streets  of  London.  As  she  passed  along  she 
looked  in  at  the  windows  of  several  shops,  and 
saw  a  great  variety  of  different  sorts  of  things, 
of  which  she  did  not  know  the  use  or  even  the 
names.  She  wished  to  stop  to  look  at  them,  but 
there  was  a  great  number  of  people  in  the  streets, 
and  a  great  many  carts,  carriages,  and  wheel- 
barrows, and  she  was  afraid  to  let  go  her  mother's 
hand. 

'Oh,  mother,  how  happy  I  should  be,'  she  said, 
as  she  passed  a  toy-shop, '  if  I  had  all  these  pretty 
things !' 

'  What,  all!  Do  you  wish  for  them  all,  Rosa- 
mond?' 

'Yes,  mother,  all.' 

As  she  spoke  they  came  to  a  milliner's  shop,  the 
windows  of  which  were  decorated  with  ribands 
and  lace  and  festoons  of  artificial  flowers. 


6  THE  BLUE  JAR 

*0h  mother,  what  beautiful  roses!  Won't  you 
buy  some  of  them?' 

'No,  my  dear.' 

'Why?' 

'Because  I  don't  want  them,  my  dear.' 

They  went  a  httle  farther,  and  came  to  another 
shop,  which  caught  Rosamond's  eye.  It  was  a 
jeweller's  shop,  and  in  it  were  a  great  many 
pretty  baubles,  ranged  in  drawers  behind  glass. 

'Mother,  will  you  buy  some  of  these?' 

'Which  of  them,  Rosamond?' 

'Which?  I  don't  know  which;  any  of  them 
will  do,  for  they  are  all  pretty.' 

'Yes,  they  are  all  pretty ;  but  of  what  use  would 
they  be  to  me?' 

'Use!  Oh,  I'm  sure  you  could  find  some  use 
or  other  for  them  if  you  would  only  buy  them 
first.' 

'But  I  would  rather  find  out  the  use -first.' 

'Well,  then,  mother,  there  are  buckles;  you 
know  that  buckles  are  useful  things,  very  useful 
things.' 

'I  have  a  pair  orbuckles;  I  don't  want  another 
pair,'  said  her  mother,  and  walked  on.  Rosa- 
mond was  very  sorry  that  her  mother  wanted 
nothing.  Presently,  however,  they  came  to  a 
shop  which  appeared  to  her  far  more  beautiful 
than  the  rest.  It  was  a  chemist's  shop,  but  she 
did  not  know  that. 

'Oh,  mother,  oh!'  cried  she,  pulling  her  mother's 
hand,  'look,  look! — blue,  green,  red,  yellow^  and 


THE  BLUE  JAR  7 

purple!  Oh,  mother,  what  beautiful  things t 
Won't  you  buy  some  of  these?' 

Still  her  mother  answered  as  before :  'Of  what 
use  would  they  be  to  me,  Rosamond?' 

'You  might  put  flowers  in  them,  mother,  and 
they  would  look  so  pretty  on  the  chimney-piece. 
I  wish  I  had  one  of  them.' 

'You  have  a  flower-pot,'  said  her  mother,  'and 
that  is  not  a  flower-pot.' 

'But  I  could  use  it  for  a  flower-pot,  mother, 
you  know.' 

'Perhaps,  if  you  were  to  see  it  nearer,  if  you 
were  to  examine  it,  you  might  be  disappointed.' 

'No,  indeed,  I'm  sure  I  should  not;  I  should 
like  it  exceedingly.' 

Rosamond  kept  her  head  turned  to  look  at  the 
blue  vase  till  she  could  see  it  no  longer. 

'Then,  mother,'  said  she,  after  a  pause,  'perhaps 
you  have  no  money.' 

'Yes,  I  have.' 

'Dear  me!  if  I  had  money  I  would  buy  roses, 
and  boxes,  and  buckles,  and  blue  flower-pots, 
and  everything.'  Rosamond  was  obliged  to 
pause  in  the  midst  of  her  speech.  'Oh,  mother, 
would  you  stop  a  minute  for  me?  I  have  got  a 
stone  in  my  shoe;  it  hurts  me  very  much.' 

'How  comes  there  to  be  a  stone  in  your  shoe?' 

'Because  of  this  great  hole,  mother ;  it  comes  in 
there.  My  shoes  are  quite  worn  out.  I  wish  you 
would  be  so  very  good  as  to  give  me  another  pair. 

'Nay,  Rosamond,  but  I  have  not  money  enough 


8  THE  BLUE  JAR 

to  buy  shoes,  and  flower-pots,  and  buckles,  and 
boxes,  and  everything.' 

Rosamond  thought  that  was  a  great  pity. 
But  now  her  foot,  which  had  been  hurt  by  the 
stone,  began  to  give  her  so  much  pain  that  she 
was  obliged  to  hop  every  other  step,  and  she  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  They  came  to  a  shoe- 
maker's shop  soon  afterwards. 

'There,  there,  mother,  there  are  shoes;  there  are 
little  shoes  that  would  just  fit  me,  and  you  know 
shoes  would  be  really  of  use  to  me.' 

*Yes,  so  they  would,  Rosamond.  Come  in.' 
She  followed  her  mother  into  the  shop. 

Mr.  Sole,  the  shoemaker,  had  a  great  many  cus- 
tomers, and  his  shop  was  full,  so  they  were 
obliged  to  wait. 

'Well,  Rosamond,'  said  her  mother,  'you  don't 
think  this  shop  so  pretty  as  the  rest?' 

'No,  not  nearly ;  it  is  black  and  dark,  and  there 
are  nothing  but  shoes  all  round,  and,  besides, 
there's  a  very  disagreeable  smell.' 

'That  smell  is  the  smell  of  new  leather.' 

'Is,  it?  Oh,'  said  Rosamond  looking  round 
'there  is  a  pair  of  little  shoes;  they'll  just  fit  me, 
I'm  sure.' 

'Perhaps  they  might,  but  you  cannot  be  sure 
till  you  have  tried  them  on,  any  more  than  you 
can  be  quite  sure  that  you  should  like  the  blue 
vase  exceedingly  till  you  have  examined  it  more 
attentively.' 

'Why,  I  don't  know  about  the  shoes,  certainly. 


THE  BLUE  JAR  9 

till  I  have  tried;  but,  mother,  I  am  quite  sure 
that  I  should  like  the  flower-pot.' 

'Well,  which  would  you  rather  have — that  jar 
or  a  pair  of  shoes?     I  will  buy  either  for  you.' 

'Dear  mother,  thank  3^ou !  but  if  you  could  buv 
both?' 

'No,  not  both.' 

'Then  the  jar,  if  you  please.' 

But  I  should  tell  you,  that  in  that  case  I  shall 
not  give  you  another  pair  of  shoes  this  month.' 

'This  month!  that's  a  very  long  time  indeed! 
You  can't  think  how  these  hurt  me.  I  believe 
I'd  better  have  the  new  shoes.  Yet,  that  blue 
flower-pot.  Oh,  indeed,  mother,  these  shoes  are 
not  so  very  very  bad !  I  think  I  might  wear  them 
a  little  longer,  and  the  month  will  soon  be  over.  I 
can  make  them  last  till  the  end  of  the  month,  can't 
I?    Don't  you  think  so,  mother?' 

'Nay,  my  dear,  I  want  you  to  think  for  your- 
self; you  will  have  time  enough  to  consider  the 
matter  whilst  I  speak  to  Mr,  Sole  about  my 
clogs.' 

Mr.  Sole  was  by  this  time  at  leisure,  and  whilst 
her  mother  was  speaking  to  him  Rosamond  stood 
in  profound  meditation,  with  one  shoe  on  and  the 
other  in  her  hand. 

'Well,  my  dear,  have  you  decided?' 

'Mother!  yes,  I  believe  I  have.  If  you  please, 
I  should  like  to  have  the  flower-pot;  that  is,  if  you 
won't  think  me  very  silly,  mother.' 

'Why,  as  to  that,  I  can't  promise  you,  Rosa- 


10  THE  BLUE  JAR 

mond;  but,  when  you  have  to  judge  for  yourself » 
you  should  choose  what  will  make  you  happy,  and 
then  it  would  not  signify  who  thought  you  silly.' 

'Then,  mother,  if  that's  all,  I'm  sure  the  flower- 
pot would  make  me  happy,'  said  she,  putting  on 
her  old  shoe  again;  'so  I  choose  the  flower-pot.' 

*  Very  well,  you  shall  have  it.  Clasp  your  shoe, 
and  come  home.' 

Rosamond  clasped  her  shoe  and  ran  after  her 
mother.  It  was  not  long  before  the  shoe  came 
down  at  the  heel,  and  many  times  she  was  obliged 
to  stop  to  take  the  stones  out  of  it,  and  she  often 
limped  with  pain;  but  still  the  thoughts  of  the 
blue  flower-pot  prevailed,  and  she  persisted  in 
her  choice. 

When  they  came  to  the  shop  with  the  large 
window  Rosamond  felt  much  pleasure  upon  hear- 
ing her  mother  desire  the  servant  who  was  with 
them  to  buy  the  blue  jar,  and  bring  it  home. 
He  had  other  commissions,  so  he  did  not  return 
with  them.  Rosamond  as  soon  as  she  got  in  ran 
to  gather  all  her  own  flowers,  which  she  kept  in  a 
corner  of  her  mother's  garden. 

'I  am  afraid  they'll  be  dead  before  the  flower- 
pot comes,  Rosamond,'  said  her  mother  to  her,  as 
she  came  in  with  the  flowers  in  her  lap. 

*No,  indeed,  mother;  it  will  come  home  very 
soon,  I  dare  say.  I  shall  be  very  happy  putting 
them  into  the  blue  flower-pot.' 

'I  hope  so,  my  dear.' 

The  servant  was  much  longer  returning  home 


THE  BLUE  JAR  11 

than  Rosamond  had  expected;  but  at  length  he 
came,  and  brought  with  him  the  long-wished-f  or 
jar.  The  moment  it  was  set  down  upon  the  table, 
Rosamond  ran  up  to  it  with  an  exclamation  of 
joy.     *I  may  have  it  now,  mother?' 

*Yes,  my  dear!  it  is  yours.' 

Rosamond  poured  the  flowers  from  her  lap 
upon  the  carpet,  and   seized  the  blue  flower-pot. 

*Oh,  dear  mother,'  cried  she,  as  soon  as  she  had 
taken  off*  the  top,  *but  there's  something  dark  in 
it  which  smells  very  disagreeably.  What  is  it? 
I  didn't  want  this  black  stuff*.' 

Wor  I,  my  dear.' 

*But  what  shall  I  do  with  it,  mother?' 

'That  I  cannot  tell.' 

*It  will  be  of  no  use  to  me,  mother.' 

*That  I  cannot  help.' 

*But  I  must  pour  it  out,  and  fill  the  flower-p/)t 
with  water.' 

*As  you  please,  my. dear.' 

*Will  you  lend  me  a  bowl  to  pour  it  into, 
mother?' 

*That  was  more  than  I  promised  you,  my  dear, 
but  I  will  lend  you  a  bowl.' 

The  bowl  was  produced,  and  Rosamond  pro- 
ceeded to  empty  the  blue  vase.  But  she  experi- 
enced much  surprise  and  disappointment  on  find- 
ing, when  it  was  entirely  empty,  that  it  was  no 
longer  a  blue  vase.  It  was  a  plain  white  glass 
jar,  which  had  appeared  to  have  that  beautiful 


12  THE  BLUE  JAR 

colour  merely  from  the  liquor  with  which  it  had 
been  filled. 

Little  Rosamond  burst  into  tears. 

'Why  should  you  cry,  my  dear?'  said  her 
mother;  'it  will  be  of  as  much  use  to  you  now  as 
ever  for  a  flower-pot.' 

'But  it  won't  look  so  pretty  on  the  chimney- 
piece.  I  am  sure,  if  I  had  known  that  it  was 
not  really  blue,  I  should  not  have  wished  to 
have  it  so  much.* 

'But  did'nt  I  tell  you  that  you  had  not  exam- 
ined it,  and  that  perhaps  you  would  be  disap- 
pointed?' 

'And  so  I  am  disappointed,  indeed.  I  wish  I 
had  believed  you  at  once.  Now  I  had  much  rather 
have  the  shoes,  for  I  shall  not  be  able  to  walk  all 
this  month;  even  walking  home  that  little  way 
hurt  me  exceedingly.  Mother,  I  will  give  you 
the  flower-pot  back  again,  and  that  blue  stuff 
and  all,  if  you'll  only  give  me  the  shoes.' 

'No,  Rosamond;  you  must  abide  by  your  own 
choice,  and  now  the  best  thing  you  can  possibly 
do  is  to  bear  your  disappointment  with  good  hu- 
mour.' 

'I  will  bear  it  as  well  as  I  can,'  said  Rosamond, 
wiping  her  eyes;  and  she  began  slowly  and  sor- 
rowfully to  All  the  vase  with  flowers. 

But  Rosamond's  disappointment  did  not  end 
here.  Many  were  the  difficulties  and  distresses 
into  which  her  imprudent  choice  brought  her  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  month.     Every  day  her  shoes 


THE  BLUE  JAR  13 

grew  worse  and  worse,  till  at  last  she  could  neither 
run,  dance,  jump,  nor  walk  in  them.  Whenever 
Rosamond  was  called  to  see  anything,  she  was 
detained  pulling  her  shoes  up  at  the  heels,  and  was 
sure  to  be  too  late.  Whenever  her  mother  was 
going  out  to  walk,  she  could  not  take  Rosamond 
with  her,  for  Rosamond  had  no  soles  to  her  shoes ; 
and  at  length,  on  the  very  last  day  of  the  month, 
it  happened  that  her  father  proposed  to  take  her, 
with  her  brother,  to  a  glasshouse  which  she  had 
long  wished  to  see.  She  was  very  happy;  but 
when  she  was  quite  ready,  had  her  hat  and  gloves 
on,  and  was  making  haste  downstairs  to  her 
brother  and  father,  who  were  waiting  for  her  at 
the  hall-door,  the  shoe  dropped  off.  She  put  it 
on  again  in  a  great  hurry,  but  as  she  was  going 
across  the  hall  her  father  turned  roimd.  'Why 
are  you  walking  slipshod?  no  one  must  walk  slip- 
shod with  me.  Why,  Rosamond,'  said  he,  look- 
ing at  her  shoes  with  disgust,  *I  thought  that  you 
were  always  neat.  Go;  I  cannot  take  you  with 
me.' 

Rosamond  coloured  and  retired.  *Oh,  mother,' 
said  she,  as  she  took  off  her  hat,  'how  I  wish  that  I 
had  chosen  the  shoes!  They  would  have  been  of 
so  much  more  use  to  me  than  that  jar.  However, 
I  am  sure — no,  not  quite  sure,  but  I  hope  I  shall 
be  wiser  another  time.' 


*Look,  grandmother— look  at  my  icotcher!" 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN 

MARIA  EDGE  WORTH. 

AT  the  foot  of  a  steep,  slippery,  white  hill, 
near  Dunstable,  in  Bedfordshire,  called 
Chalk  Hill,  there  is  a  hut,  or  rather  a  hovel,  which 
travellers  would  scarcely  suppose  could  be  inhab- 
ited, if  they  did  not  see  the  smoke  rising  from  its 
peaked  roof.  An  old  woman  lived  in  this  hovel, 
many  years  ago,  and  with  her  a  little  boy  and  girl, 
the  children  of  a  beggar  who  died  and  left  these 
orphans  perishing  with  hunger.  They  thought 
themselves  very  happy  when  the  good  old  woman 
first  took  them  into  her  hut,  and  bid  them  warm 
themselves  at  her  small  fire,  and  gave  them  a  crust 
of  mouldy  bread  to  eat.  She  had  not  much  to 
give,  but  what  she  had  she  gave  with  goodwill. 
She  was  very  kind  to  these  poor  children,  and 
worked  hard  at  her  spinning-wheel  and  at  her 
knitting  to  support  herself  and  them.  She 
earned  money  also  in  another  way.  She  used 
to  follow  all  the  carriages  as  they  went  up  Chalk 
Hill,  and  when  the  horses  stopped  to  take  breath 
or  to  rest  themselves,  she  put  stones  behind  the 
carriage-wheels  to  prevent  them  from  rolling 
backwards  down  the  steep,  slippery  hill. 

The  little  boy  and  girl  loved  to  stand  beside  the 
good-natured  old  woman's  spinning  wheel  when 

15 


16  THE  BASKET-WOMAN 

she  was  spinning,  and  to  talk  to  her.  At  these 
times  she  taught  them  something,  which  she  said 
she  hoped  they  would  remember  all  their  lives. 
She  explained  to  them  what  is  meant  by  telling 
the  truth,  and  what  it  is  to  be  honest.  She  taught 
them  to  dislike  idleness,  and  to  wish  that  they 
could  be  useful. 

One  evening,  as  they  were  standing  beside  her, 
the  little  boy  said  to  her:  'Grandmother' — for 
that  was  the  name  by  which  she  liked  that  these 
children  should  call  her — 'grandmother,  how 
often  you  are  forced  to  get  up  from  your  spin- 
ning-wheel, and  to  follow  the  chaises  and  coaches 
up  that  steep  hill,  to  put  stones  underneath  the 
wheels  to  hinder  them  from  rolling  back!  The 
people  who  are  in  the  carriages  give  you  a  half- 
penny or  a  penny  for  doing  so,  don't  they?' 

'Yes,  child.' 

'But  it  is  very  hard  work  for  you  to  go  up  and 
down  that  hill.  You  often  say  that  you  are 
tired.  And  then  you  know  that  you  cannot  spin 
all  that  time.  Now,  if  we  might  go  up  the  hill, 
and  put  the  stones  behind  the  wheels,  you  could 
sit  still  at  your  work;  and  would  not  the  people 
give  us  the  halfpence?  and  could  not  we  bring 
them  all  to  you?  Do,  pray,  dear  grandmother, 
try  us  for  one  day — to-morrow  will  you?' 

'Yes,'  said  the  old  woman,  'I  will  try  what  you 
can  do ;  but  I  must  go  up  the  hill  along  with  you 
for  the  first  two  or  three  times,  for  fear  you 
should  get  yourselves  hurt.' 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN  1? 

So  the  next  day  the  little  boy  and  girl  went 
with  their  grandmother,  as  they  used  to  call  her, 
up  the  steep  hill,  and  she  showed  the  boy  how  to 
prevent  the  .wheels  from  rolling  back  by  putting 
stones  behind  them,  and  she  said:  *This  is  called 
scotching  the  wheels,'  and  she  took  off  the  boy's 
hat  and  gave  it  to  the  little  girl  to  hold  up  to  the 
carriage-windows  ready  for  the  halfpence. 

When  she  thought  that  the  children  knew  how 
to  manage  by  themselves  she  left  them  and  re- 
turned to  her  spinning-wheel.  A  great  many 
carriages  happened  to  go  by  this  day,  and  the 
little  girl  received  a  great  many  halfpence.  She 
carried  them  all  in  her  brother's  hat  to  her  grand- 
mother in  the  evening,  and  the  old  woman  smiled 
and  thanked  the  children.  She  said  that  they  had 
been  useful  to  her,  and  that  her  spinning  had 
gone  on  finely,  because  she  had  been  able  to  sit 
still  at  her  wheel  all  day. 

*But,  Paul,  my  boy,'  said  she,  'what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  your  hand?' 

*Only  a  pinch — only  one  pinch  that  I  got  as  I 
was  putting  a  stone  behind  a  wheel  of  a  chaise. 
It  does  not  hurt  me  much,  grandmother,  and  I've 
thought  of  a  good  thing  for  to-morrow.  I  shall 
never  be  hurt  again  if  you  will  only  be  so  good  as 
to  give  me  the  old  handle  of  the  broken  crutch, 
grandmother,  and  the  block  of  wood  that  lies  in 
the  chimney-corner,  and  that  is  of  no  use.  I'll 
make  it  of  some  use,  if  I  may  have  it.' 

*Take  it,  then,  dear,'  said  the  old  woman,  'and 


18  THE  BASKET-WOMAN 

you'll  find  the  handle  of  the  broken  crutch  under 
my  bed.' 

Paul  went  to  work  immediately,  and  fastened 
one  end  of  the  pole  into  the  block  of  wood,  so  as 
to  make  something  like  a  dry-rubbing  brush. 

*Look,  grandmother — look  at  my  scotcher!  I 
call  this  thing  my  scotcher/  said  Paul,  'because  I 
shall  always  scotch  the  wheels  with  it.  I  shall 
never  pinch  my  fingers  again;  my  hands,  you  see, 
will  be  safe  at  the  end  of  this  long  stick.  And, 
Sister  Anne,  you  need  not  be  at  the  trouble  of 
carrying  any  more  stones  after  me  up  the  hill; 
we  shall  never  want  stones  any  more.  My 
scotcher  will  do  without  anything  else,  I  hope.  I 
wish  it  was  morning,  and  that  a  carriage  would 
come,  that  I  might  run  up  the  hill  and  try  my 
scotcher.' 

'And  I  wish  that  as  many  chaises  may  go  by 
to-morrow  as  there  did  to-day,  and  that  we  may 
bring  you  as  many  halfpence,  too,  grandmother,' 
said  the  little  girl. 

'So  do  I,  my  dear  Anne,'  said  the  old  woman, 
'for  I  mean  that  you  and  your  brother  shall  have 
all  the  money  that  you  get  to-morrow.  You  may 
buy  some  ginger  bread  for  yourselves,  or  some  of 
those  ripe  plums  that  you  saw  at  the  fruit-stall 
the  other  day,  which  is  just  going  into  Dunstable. 
I  told  you  then  that  I  could  not  afford  to  buy 
such  things  for  you,  but  now  that  you  can  earn 
halfpence  for  yourselves,  children,  it  is  fair  you 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN  19 

should  taste  a  ripe  plum  and  bit  of  gingerbread 
for  once  and  a  way  in  your  lives.' 

'We'll  bring  some  of  the  gingerbread  home  to 
her,  shan't  we,  brother?'  whispered  little  Anne. 

The  morning  came,  but  no  carriages  were  heard 
though  Paul  and  his  sister  had  risen  at  five  o'clock 
that  they  might  be  sure  to  be  ready  for  early 
travellers.  Paul  kept  his  scotcher  poised  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  watched  eagerly  at  his  station 
at  the  bottom  of  the  hill.  He  did  not  wait  long 
before  a  carriage  came.  He  followed  it  up  the 
hill,  and  the  instant  the  postillion  called  to  him 
and  bade  him  stop  the  wheels,  he  put  his  scotcher 
behind  them,  and  found  that  it  answered  the  pur- 
pose perfectly  well. 

Many  carriages  went  by  this  day,  and  Paul  and 
Anne  received  a  great  many  halfpence  from  the 
travellers. 

When  it  grew  dusk  in  the  evening  Anne  said 
to  her  brother:  'I  don't  think  any  more  carriages 
will  come  by  to-day.  Let  us  count  the  halfpence, 
and  carry  them  home  now  to  grandmother.' 

'No,  not  yet,'  answered  Paul;  'let  them  alone — 
let  them  lie  still  in  the  hole  where  I  have  put  them. 
I  dare  say  more  carriages  will  come  by  before  it 
is  quite  dark,  and  then  we  shall  have  more  half- 
pence.' 

Paul  had  taken  the  halfpence  out  of  his  hat, 
and  he  had  put  them  into  a  hole  in  the  high  bank 
by  the  roadside,  and  Anne  said  she  would  not 
meddle  with  them,  and  that  she  would  wait  till 


20  THE  BASKET-WOMAN 

her  brother  liked  to  count  them;  and  Paul  said: 
'If  you  will  stay  and  watch  here,  I  will  go  and 
gather  some  blackberries  for  you  in  the  hedge  in 
yonder  field.  Stand  you  hereabouts,  half-way 
up  the  hill,  and  the  moment  you  see  any  carriage 
coming  along  the  road  run  as  fast  as  you  can  and 
call  me.' 

Anne  waited  a  long  time,  or  what  she  thought 
a  long  time,  and  she  saw  no  carriage  and  she 
trailed  her  brother's  scotcher  up  and  down  till  she 
was  tired.  Then  she  stood  still  and  looked  again, 
and  she  saw  no  carriage,  so  she  went  sorrowfully 
into  the  field  and  to  the  hedge  where  her  brother 
was  gathering  blackberries,  and  she  said : 

'Paul,  I'm  sadly  tired — sadly  tired!'  said  she, 
'and  my  eyes  are  quite  strained  with  looking  for 
chaises.  No  more  chaises  will  come  to-night,  and 
your  scotcher  is  lying  there,  of  no  use,  upon  the 
ground.  Have  not  I  waited  long  enough  for  to- 
day, Paul?' 

'Oh  no,'  said  Paul.  'Here  are  some  black- 
berries for  you;  you  had  better  wait  a  little  bit 
longer.  Perhaps  a  carriage  might  go  by  whilst 
you  are  standing  here  talking  to  me.' 

Anne,  who  was  of  a  very  obliging  temper,  and 
who  liked  to  do  what  she  was  asked  to  do,  went 
back  to  the  place  where  the  scotcher  lay,  and 
scarcely  had  she  reached  the  spot  when  she  heard 
the  noise  of  a  carriage.  She  ran* to  call  her 
brother,  and,  to  their  great  joy,  they  now  saw 
four  chaises   coming   towards   them.     Paul,   as 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN  21 

soon  as  they  went  up  the  hill,  followed  with  his 
scotcher.  First  he  scotched  the  wheels  of  one 
carriage,  then  of  another;  and  Anne  was  so  much 
delighted  with  observing  how  well  the  scotcher 
stopped  the  wheels,  and  how  much  better  it  was 
than  stones,  that  she  forgot  to  go  and  hold  her 
brother's  hat  to  the  travellers  for  halfpence,  till 
she  was  roused  by  the  voice  of  a  little  rosy  girl 
who  was  looking  out  of  the  window  of  one  of  the 
chaises.  *Come  close  to  the  chaise-door,'  said  the 
little  girl;  'here  are  some  halfpence  for  you.' 

Anne  held  the  hat,  and  she  afterwards  went  on 
to  the  other  carriages.  Money  was  thrown  to  her 
from  each  of  them,  and  when  they  had  all  gotten 
safely  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  she  and  her  brother 
sat  down  upon  a  large  stone  by  the  roadside  to 
count  their  treasure.  First  they  began  by  count- 
ing what  was  in  the  hat — *One,  two,  three,  four 
halfpence.' 

'But,  oh,  brother,  look  at  this!'  exclaimed 
Anne ;  'this  is  not  the  same  as  the  other  halfpence.' 

'No,  indeed,  it  is  not,'  cried  Paul;  'it  is  no  half- 
penny.    It  is  a  guinea — a  bright  golden  guinea!' 

'Is  it?'  said  Anne,  who  had  never  seen  a  guinea 
in  her  life  before,  and  who  did  not  know  its  value, 
'and  will  it  do  as  well  as  a  halfpenny  to  buy  gin- 
gerbread? I'll  run  to  the  fruit-stall  and  ask  the 
woman,  shall  I  ?' 

'No,  no,'  said  Paul,  'you  need  not  ask  any  wo- 
man, or  anybody  but  me.  I  can  tell  you  all  about 
it  as  well  as  anybody  in  the  whole  world.' 


22  THE  BASKET-WOMAN 

*The  whole  trorld!  Oh,  Paul,  you  forgot. 
Not  so  well  as  my  grandmother.' 

'Why,  not  so  well  as  my  grandmother,  perhaps ; 
but,  Anne,  I  can  tell  you  that  you  must  not  talk 
yourself,  Anne,  but  you  must  listen  to  me  quietly, 
or  else  you  won't  understand  what  I  am  going  to 
tell  you;  for  I  can  assure  you  that  I  don't  think  I 
quite  understood  it  myself,  Anne,  the  first  time 
my  grandmother  told  it  to  me,  though  I  stood 
stock-still  listening  my  best.' 

Prepared  by  this  speech  to  hear  something 
very  difficult  to  be  understood,  Anne  looked  v  ery 
grave,  and  her  brother  explained  to  her  that  with 
a  guinea  she  might  buy  two  hundred  and  fifty- 
two  times  as  many  plums  as  she  could  get  for  a 
penny. 

*Why,  Paul,  you  know  the  fruit-woman  said 
she  would  give  us  a  dozen  plums  for  a  penny. 
Now,  for  this  little  guinea  would  she  give  us  two 
hundred  and  fifty-two  dozen?' 

'If  she  has  so  many,  and  if  we  like  to  have  so 
many,  to  be  sure  she  will,'  said  Paul;  'but  I  think 
we  should  not  like  to  have  two  hundred  and  fifty- 
two  dozen  of  plums;  we  could  not  eat  such  a 
number.' 

'But  we  could  give  some  of  them  to  my  grand- 
mother,' said  Anne. 

'But  still  there  would  be  too  many  for  her,  and 
for  us,  too,'  said  Paul,  'and  when  we  had  eaten 
the  plums  there  would  be  an  end  to  all  the  plea- 
sure.    But  now  I'll  tell  you  what  I  am  thinking 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN  25 

of,  Anne,  that  we  might  buy  something  for  my 
grandmother  that  would  be  very  useful  to  her  in- 
deed with  the  guinea — something  that  would  last 
a  great  while.' 

*What,  brother?     What  sort  of  thing?' 

*  Something  that  she  said  she  wanted  very  much 
last  winter,  when  she  was  so  ill  with  the  rheuma- 
tism— something  that  she  said  yesterday,  when 
you  were  making  her  bed,  she  wished  she  might  be 
able  to  buy  before  next  winter.' 

'I  know,  I  know  what  you  mean!'  said  Anne — 
*a  blanket.  Oh,  yes,  Paul,  that  will  be  much  bet- 
ter than  plums;  do  let  us  buy  a  blanket  for  her. 
How  glad  she  will  be  to  see  it !  I  will  make  her 
bed  with  the  new  blanket,  and  then  bring  her  to 
look  at  it.  But,  Paul,  how  shall  we  buy  a  blan- 
ket?    Where  are  blankets  to  be  got?' 

'Leave  that  to  me;  I'll  manage  that.  I  know 
where  blankets  can  be  got;  I  saw  one  hanging  out 
of  a  shop  the  day  I  went  last  to  Dunstable.' 

'You  have  seen  a  great  many  things  at  Dun- 
stable, brother.' 

'Yes,  a  great  many;  but  I  never  saw  anything 
there  or  anywhere  else  that  I  wished  for  half  so 
much  as  I  did  for  the  blanket  for  niy  grand- 
mother. Do  you  remember  how  she  used  to 
shiver  with  the  cold  last  winter?  I'll  buy  the 
blanket  to-morrow.  I'm  going  to  Dunstable 
with  her  spinning.' 

'And  you'll  bring  the  blanket  to  me,  and  I  shall 


24 


*We  might  buy  something  very  useful  with  the  guinea.". 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN  25 

make  the  bed  very  neatly.  That  will  be  all  right 
— all  happy!'  said  Anne,  clapping  her  hands. 

'But  stay!  Hush!  don't  clap  your  hands  so, 
Anne.  It  will  not  be  all  happy,  I'm  afraid,'  said 
Paul,  and  his  countenance  changed,  and  he  looked 
very  grave.  'It  will  not  be  all  right,  I'm  afraid, 
for  there's  one  thing  we  have  neither  of  us 
thought  of,  but  that  we  ought  to  think  about. 
We  cannot  buy  the  blanket,  I'm  afraid.' 

'Why— Paul,  why?' 

'Because  I  don't  think  this  guinea  is  honestly 
ours.' 

'Nay,  brother,  but  I'm  sure  it  is  honestly  ours. 
It  was  given  to  us,  and  grandmother  said  all  that 
was  given  to  us  to-day  was  to  be  our  own.' 

'But  who  gave  it  to  you,  Anne?' 

'Some  of  the  people  in  those  chaises^  Paul.  I 
don't  know  which  of  them,  but  I  dare  say  it  was 
the  little  rosy  girl.' 

'No,'  said  Paul,  'for  when  she  called  you  to  the 
chaise  door  she  said,  "Here's  some  halfpence  for 
you."  Now,  if  she  gave  you  the  guinea,  she  must 
have  given  it  to  you  by  mistake.' 

'Well,  but  perhaps  some  of  the  people  in  the 
other  chaises  gave  it  to  me,  and  did  not  give  it  to 
me  by  mistake,  Paul.  There  was  a  gentleman 
reading  in  one  of  the  chaises,  and  a  lady,  who 
looked  very  good-naturedly  at  me,  and  then  the 
gentleman  put  down  his  book,  and  put  his  head 
out  of  the  window  and  looked  at  your  scotcher, 
brother,  and  he  asked  me  if  that  was  your  own 


26  THE  BASKET-WOMAN 

making;  and  when  I  said  yes,  and  that  I  was  your 
sister,  he  smiled  at  me,  and  put  his  hand  into  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  and  threw  a  handful  of  half- 
pence into  the  hat,  and  I  dare  say  he  gave  us  the 
guinea  along  with  them  because  he  liked  your 
scotcher  so  much.' 

'Why,'  said  Paul,  'that  might  be,  to  be  sure,  but 
I  wish  I  was  quite  certain  of  it.' 

*Then,  as  we  are  not  quite  certain,  had  not  we 
best  go  and  asR  my  grandmother  what  she  thinks 
about  it?' 

Paul  thought  this  was  excellent  advice,  and  he 
was  not  a  silly  boy  who  did  not  like  to  follow  good 
advice.  He  went  with  his  sister  directly  to  his 
grandmother,  showed  her  the  guinea  and  told  her 
how  they  came  by  it. 

*My  dear  honest  children,'  said  she,  'I  am  very 
glad  you  told  me  all  this.  I  am  very  glad  that 
you  did  not  buy  either  the  plums  or  the  blanket 
with  this'guinea.  I'm  sure  it  is  not  honestly  ours. 
Those  who  threw  it  you  gave  ft  you  by  mistake,  I 
warrant,  and  what  I  would  have  you  do  is  to  go 
to  Dunstable,  and  try  if  you  can  at  either  of  the 
inns  find  out  the  person  who  gave  it  to  you.  It  is 
now  so  late  in  the  evening  that  perhaps  the  trav- 
ellers will  sleep  at  Dunstable  instead  of  going  on 
the  next  stage ;  and  it  is  likely  that  whosoever  gave 
you  a  guinea  instead  of  a  halfpenny  has  found 
out  their  mistake  by  this  time.  All  you  can  do  is 
to  go  and  inquire  for  the  gentleman  who  was 
reading  in  the  chaise.' 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN  27 

*0h !'  interrupted  Paul,  'I  know  a  good  way  of 
finding  him  out.  I  remember  it  was  a  dark-green 
chaise  with  red  wheels,  and  I  remember  I  read 
the  innkeeper's  name  upon  the  chaise,  "John  Nel- 
son." (I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  teaching 
me  to  read,  grandmother. )  You  told  me  yester- 
day, grandmother,  that  the  names  written  upon 
chaises  are  the  innkeepers  to  whom  they  belong. 
I  read  the  name  of  the  innkeeper  upon  that  chaise. 
It  was  John  Nelson.  So  Anne  and  I  will  go  to 
both  the  inns  in  Dunstable,  and  try  to  find  out 
this  chaise — John  Nelson's.  Come,  Anne,  let  us 
set  out  before  it  gets  quite  dark.' 

Anne  and  her  brother  passed  with  great  cour- 
age the  tempting  stall  that  was  covered  with  gin- 
gerbread and  ripe  plums,  and  pursued  their  way 
steadily  through  the  streets  of  Dunstable;  but 
Paul,  when  he  came  to  the  shop  where  he  had 
seen  the  blanket,  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  said : 
'It  is  a  great  pity,  Anne,  that  the  guinea  is  not 
ours.  However,  we  are  doing  what  is  honest,  and 
that  is  a  comfort.  Here,  we  must  go  through 
this  gateway  into  the  inn-yard;  we  are  come  to 
the  Dun  Cow.' 

'Cow !'  said  Anne,  'I  see  no  cow.' 

'Look  up,  and  you'll  see  the  cow  OTer  your 
head,'  said  Paul — 'the  sign,  the  picture.  Come, 
never  mind  looking  at  it  now ;  I  want  to  find  out 
the  green  chaise  that  has  John  Nelson's  name 
upon  it.' 

Paul  pushed  forward  through  a  crowded  pas- 


28  THE  BASKET-WOMAN 

sage  tiU  he  got  into  the  inn-yard.  There  ^tas  a 
great  noise  and  bustle.  The  ostlers  were  carry- 
ing in  luggage ;  the  postillions  were  rubbing  down 
the  horses,  or  rolling  the  chaises  into  the  coach- 
house. 

*What  now?  What  business  have  you  here, 
pray?'  said  a  waiter,  whoialmost  ran  over  Paul  as 
he  was  crossing  the  yard  in  a  great  hurry  to  get 
some  empty  bottles  from  the  bottle-rack. 
*YouVe  no  business  here,  crowding  up  the  yard. 
.Walk  off,  young  gentleman,  if  you  please.' 

'Pray  give  me  leave,  sir,'  said  Paul,  'to  stay  a 
few  minutes  to  look  amongst  these  chaises  for  one 
dark-green  chaise  with  red  wheels  that  has  Mr. 
John  Nelson's  name  written  upon  it.' 

'What's  that  he  says  about  a  dark-green 
chaise?'  said  one  of  the  postillions. 

'What  should  such  a  one  as  he  is  know  about 
chaises?'  interrupted  the  hasty  waiter,  and  he  was 
going  to  turn  Paul  out  of  the  yard ;  but  the  ostler 
caught  hold  of  his  arm,  and  said:  'Maybe  the 
child  has  some  business  here ;  let's  know  what  he 
has  to  say  for  himself.' 

The  waiter  was  at  this  instant  luckily  obliged 
to  leave  them  to  attend  the  bell,  and  Paul  told  his 
business  to  the  ostler,  who  as  soon  as  he  saw  the 
guinea  and  heard  the  story  shook  Paul  by  the 
hand,  and  said:  'Stand  steady,  my  honest  lad. 
I'll  find  the  chaise  for  you,  if  it  is  to  be  found 
here;  but  John  Nelson's  chaises  almost  always 
drive  to  the  Black  Bull.' 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN  29 

After  some  difficulty  the  green  chaise  with 
John  Nelson's  name  upon  it,  and  the  postillion 
who  drove  that  chaise,  were  found,  and  the  pos- 
tillion told  Paul  that  he  was  just  going  into  the 
parlour  to  the  gentleman  he  had  driven  to  be  paid, 
and  that  he  would  carry  the  guinea  with  him. 

*No,'  said  Paul;  Ve  should  like  to  give  it  back 
ourselves/ 

*  Yes,'  said  the  ostler,  'that  they  have  a  right  to 
do.' 

The  postillion  made  no  reply,  but  looked  vexed, 
and  went  on  towards  the  house,  desiring  the  chil- 
dren would  wait  in  the  passage  till  his  return.  In 
the  passage  there  was  standing  a  decent,  clean, 
good-natured  looking  woman  with  two  huge 
straw  baskets  on  each  side  of  her.  One  of  the 
baskets  stood  a  little  in  the  way  of  the  entrance. 
A  man  who  was  pushing  his  way  in,  and  carried 
in  his  hand  a  string  of  dead  larks  hung  to  a  pole, 
impatient  at  being  stopped,  kicked  down  the 
straw  basket,  and  all  its  contents  were  thrown  out. 
Bright  straw  hats,  and  boxes,  and  slippers,  were 
all  thrown  in  disorder  upon  the  dirty  ground. 

'Oh,  they  will  be  trampled  upon !  They  will  all 
be  spoiled!'  exclaimed  the  woman  to  whom  they 
belonged. 

'We'll  help  you  to  pick  them  up,  if  you  will  let 
us,'  cried  Paul  and  Anne,  and  they  immediately 
ran  to  her  assistance. 

When  the  things  were  all  safe  in  the  basket 
again  the  children  expressed  a  desire  to   know 


30  THE  BASKET-WOMAN 

how  such  beautiful  things  could  be  made  of  straw, 
but  the  woman  had  not  time  to  answer  before  the 
postillion  came  out  of  the  parlour,  and  with  him 
a  gentleman's  servant,  who  came  to  Paul,  and 
clapping  him  upon  the  back,  said : 

*So,  my  little  chap,  I  gave  you  a  guinea  for  a 
halfpenny,  I  hear,  and  I  understand  you've 
brought  it  back  again;  that's  right,  give  me  hold 

of  it; 

*No,  brother,'  said  Anne,  'this  is  not  the  gentle- 
man that  was  reading.' 

*Pooh,  child!  I  came  in  Mr.  Nelson's  green 
chaise.  Here's  the  postillion  can  tell  you  so.  I 
and  my  master  came  in  that  chaise.  I  and  my 
master  that  was  reading,  as  you  say,  and  it  was 
he  that  threw  the  money  out  to  you.  He  is  going 
to  bed ;  he  is  tired,  and  can't  see  you  himself.  He 
desires  that  you'll  give  me  the  guinea.' 

Paul  was  too  honest  himself  to  suspect  that  this 
man  was  telling  him  a  falsehood,  and  he  now 
readily  produced  his  bright  guinea,  and  delivered 
it  into  the  servant's  hands. 

'Here's  a  sixpence  apiece  for  you,  children,' 
said  he,  'and  good-night  to  you.  He  pushed 
them  towards  the  door,  but  the  basket-woman 
whispered  to  them  as  they  went  out :  'Wait  in  the 
street  till  I  come  to  you.' 

'Pray,  Mrs.  Landlady,'  cried  this  gentleman's 
servant,  addressing  himself  to  the  landlady,  who 
just  then  came  out  of  a  room  where  some  com- 
pany at  supper — 'pray.,  Mrs.  Landlady,  please  to 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN  31 

let  me  have  roasted  larks  for  my  supper.  You 
are  famous  for  larks  at  Dunstable,  and  I  make  it 
a  rule  to  taste  the  best  of  everything  wherever 
I  go;  and,  waiter,  let  me  have  a  bottle  of  claret. 
Do  you  hear?' 

*Larks  and  claret  for  his  supper,'  said  the  bas- 
ket-woman to  herself  as  she  looked  at  him  from 
head  to  foot.  The  postillion  was  still  waiting,  as 
if  to  speak  to  him,  and  she  observed  them  after- 
wards whispering  and  laughing  together.  Wo 
bad  hit/  was  a  sentence  which  the  servant  pro- 
nounced several  times. 

Now,  it  occurred  to  the  basket-woman  that  this 
man  had  cheated  the  children  out  of  the  guinea 
to  pay  for  the  larks  and  claret,  and  she  thought 
that  perhaps  she  could  discover  the  truth.  She 
waited  quietly  in  the  passage. 

'Waiter!  Joe!  Joe!'  cried  the  landlady,  'why 
don't  you  carry  in  the  sweetmeat-puffs  and  the 
tarts  here  to  the  company  in  the  best  parlour?' 

Coming,  ma'am,'  anwered  the  waiter,  and  with 
a  large  dish  of  tarts  and  puffs  he  came  from 
the  bar.  The  landlady  threw  open  the  door  of 
the  best  parlour  to  let  him  in,  and  the  basket- 
woman  had  now  a  full  view  of  a  large  cheerful 
company,  and  amongst  them  several  children,  sit- 
ting round  a  supper-table. 

'Ay,'  whispered  the  landlady,  as  the  door  closed 
after  the  waiter  and  the  tarts,  'there  are  custom- 
ers enough,  I  warrant,  for  you  in  that  room,  if 
you  had  but  the  luck  to  be  called  in.     Pray,  what 


32  THE  BASKET-WOMAN 

wouM  you  have  the  conscience,  I  wonder  now,  to 
charge  me  for  these  here  half-dozen  little  mats 
to  put  under  my  dishes?' 

'A  trifle,  ma'am,'  said  the  basket-woman.  She 
let  the  landlady  have  the  mats  cheap,  and  the  land- 
lady then  declared  she  would  step  in  and  see  if 
the  company  in  the  best  parlour  had  done  supper. 
*When  they  come  to  their  wine,'  added  she,  'I'll 
speak  a  good  word  for  you,  and  get  you  called  in 
afore  the  children  are  sent  to  bed/ 

The  landlady,  after  the  usual  speech  of  */  hope 
the  supper  and  everything  is  to  your  liking,  ladies 
and  gentlemen/  began  with:  'If  any  of  the 
young  gentlemen  or  ladies  would  have  a  curiosity 
to  see  any  of  our  famous  Dunstable  straw-work 
there's  a  decent  body  without  would,  I  dare  say, 
be  proud  to  show  them  her  pincushion-boxes,  and 
her  baskets  and  slippers,  and  her  other  curiosities/ 

The  eyes  of  the  children  all  turned  towards 
their  mother;  their  mother  smiled,  and  immediate- 
ly their  father  called  in  the  basket-woman,  and 
desired  her  to  produce  her  curiosities.  The  chil- 
dren gathered  round  her  large  pannier  as  it 
opened,  but  they  did  not  touch  any  of  her  things. 

*Ah,  papa,*  cried  a  little  rosy  girl,  'here  are  a 
pair  of  straw  slippers  that  would  just  fit  you^  I 
think;  but  would  not  straw  shoes  wear  out  very 
soon,  and  would  not  they  let  in  the  wet?' 

'Yes,  my  dear,'  said  her  father,  'but  these  slip- 
pers are  meant — ' 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN  33 

Tor  powdering-slippers,  miss/  interrupted  the 
basket-woman. 

'To  wear  when  people  are  powdering  their 
hair,'  continued  the  gentleman,  *that  they  may 
not  spoil  their  other  shoes.' 

'And  will  you  buy  them,  papa?* 

*No,  I  cannot  indulge  myself,'  said  her  father, 
*in  buying  them  now.  I  must  make  amends,'  said 
he,  laughing,  *f  or  my  carelessness,  and  as  I  threw 
away  a  guinea  to-day  I  must  endeavour  to  save 
sixpence  at  least.' 

*Ah,  the  guinea  that  you  threw  by  mistake  in- 
to the  little  girl's  hat  as  we  were  coming  up  Chalk 
Hill.  Mamma,  I  wonder  that  the  little  girl  did 
not  take  notice  of  its  being  a  guinea,  and  that 
she  did  not  run  after  the  chaise  to  give  it  back 
again.  I  should  think,  if  she  had  been  an  honest 
girl,  she  would  have  returned  it.' 

*Miss! — ma'am! — ^sir!'  said  the  basket-woman, 
'if  it  would  not  be  impertinent,  may  I  speak  a 
word?  A  little  boy  and  girl  have  just  been  here 
inquiring  for  a  gentleman  who  gave  them  a 
guinea  instead  of  a  halfpenny  by  mistake  and  not 
five  minutes  ago  I  saw  the  boy  give  the  guinea  to 
a  gentleman's  servant,  who  is  there  without,  and 
who  said  his  master  desired  it  should  be  returned 
to  him.' 

'There  must  be  some  mistake  or  some  trick  in 
this,'  said  the  gentleman.  *Are  the  children 
gone?     I  must  see  them;  send  after  them.' 

'I'll  go  for  them  myself,'  said  the  good-natured 


34  THE  BASKET-WOMAN 

basket-woman.  *I  bid  them  wait  in  the  street 
yonder,  for  my  mind  misgave  me  that  the  man 
who  spoke  so  short  to  them  was  a  cheat,  with  his 
larks  and  his  claret/ 

Paul  and  Anne  were  speedily  summoned,  and 
brought  back  by  their  friend  the  basket-woman; 
and  Anne,  the  moment  she  saw  the  gentleman, 
knew  that  he  was  the  very  person  who  smiled  upon 
her,  who  admired  her  brother's  scotcher,  and  who 
threw  a  handful  of  halfpence  into  the  hat;  but 
she  could  not  be  certain,  she  said,  that  she  received 
the  guinea  from  him:  she  only  thought  it  most 
likely  that  she  did. 

'But  I  can  be  certain  whether  the  guinea  you 
returned  be  mine  or  no,'  said  the  gentleman.  'I 
marked  the  guinea;  it  was  a  light  one,  the  only 
guinea  I  had,  which  I  put  into  my  waistcoat 
pocket  this  morning.'  He  rang  the  bell,  and  de- 
sired the  waiter  to  let  the  gentleman  who  was  in 
the  room  opposite  to  him  know  that  he  wished  to 
see  him. 

'The  gentleman  in  the  white  parlour,  sir,  do 
you  mean?' 

'I  mean  the  master  of  the  servant  who  received 
a  guinea  from  this  child.' 

'He  is  a  Mr.  Pembroke,  sir,  said  the  waiter. 

Mr.  Pembroke  came,  and  as  soon  as  he  heard 
what  had  happened  he  desired  the  waiter  to  show 
him  to  the  room  where  his  servant  was  at  supper. 
The  dishonest  servant  who  was  supping  upon 
larks  and  claret,  knew  nothing  of  what  was  going 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN  35 

on ;  but  his  knife  and  fork  dropped  from  his  hand, 
and  he  overturned  a  bumper  of  claret  as  he 
started  up  from  the  table  in  great  surprise  and 
terror,  when  his  master  came  in  with  a  face  of  in- 
dignation, and  demanded,  'The  guinea — the 
guinea,  sir,  that  you  got  from  this  child!  that 
guinea  which  you  said  I  ordered  you  to  ask  for 
from  this  child!' 

The  servant,  confounded  and  half  intoxicated, 
could  only  stammer  out  that  he  had  more  guineas 
than  one  about  him,  and  that  he  reallj'^  did  not 
know  which  it  was.  He  pulled  his  money  out, 
and  spread  it  upon  the  table  with  trembling 
hands.  The  mark;ed  guinea  appeared.  His 
master  instantly  turned  him  out  of  his  service, 
with  strong  expressions  of  contempt. 

'And  now,  my  little  honest  girl,'  said  the  gentle- 
man who  had  admired  her  brother's  scotcher, 
turning  to  Anne — 'and  now  tell  me  who  you  are, 
and  what  you  and  your  brother  want  or  wish  for 
most  in  the  world.' 

In  the  same  moment  Anne  and  Paul  ex- 
claimed :  'The  thing  we  wish  for  the  most  in  the 
world  is  a  blanket  for  our  grandmother.' 

'She  is  not  our  grandmother  in  reality,  I  believe 
sir,'  said  Paul;  'but  she  is  just  as  good  to  us,  and 
taught  me  to  read,  and  taught  Anne  to  knit,  and 
taught  us  both  that  we  should  be  honest — so  she 
has,  and  I  wish  she  had  a  new  blanket  before  next 
winter  to  keep  her  from  the  cold  and  the  rheu- 
matism.    She  had  the  rheumatism  sadly  last  win- 


36  THE  BASKET-WOMAN 

ter,  sir,  and  there  is  a  blanket  in  this  street  that 
would  be  just  the  thing  for  her.' 

'She  shall  have  it,  then;  and,'  continued  the 
gentleman,  'I  will  do  something  more  for  you. 
Do  you  like  to  be  employed  or  to  be  idle  best?' 

*We  like  to  have  something  to  do  always,  if  we 
could,  sir,'  said  Paul;  'but  we  are  forced  to  be  idle 
sometimes,  because  grandmother  has  not  always 
things  for  us  to  do  that  we  can  do  well.' 

'Should  you  like  to  learn  how  to  make  such  bas- 
kets as  these?'  said  the  gentleman,  pointing  to  one 
of  the  Dunstable  straw  baskets. 

*Oh,  very  much!'  said  Paul. 

*  Very  much !'  said  Anne. 

*Then  I  should  like  to  teach  you  how  to  make 
them,*  said  the  basket-woman,  *for  I'm  sure  of 
one  thing,  that  you'd  behave  honestly  to  me.' 

The  gentleman  put  a  guinea  into  the  good  na- 
tured  basket-woman's  hand,  and  told  her  that  he 
knew  she  could  not  afford  to  teach  them  her  trade 
for  nothing.  *I  shall  come  through  Dunstable 
again  in  a  few  months,'  added  he,  'and  I  hope  to 
see  that  you  and  your  scholars  are  going  on  well. 
If  I  find  that  they  are  I  will  do  something  more 
for  you.' 

*But,'  said  Anne,  Ve  must  tell  all  this  to  grand- 
mother, and  ask  her  about  it;  and  I'm  afraid — 
though  I'm  very  happy — ^that  it  is  getting  very 
late,  and  that  we  should  not  stay  here  any  longer.' 

*It  is  a  fine  moonlight  night,'  said  the  basket- 


THE  BASKET-WOMAN  .  37 

woman,  'and  is  not  far.  I'll  walk  with  you,  and 
see  you  safe  home  myself.' 

The  gentleman  detained  them  a  few  minutes 
longer,  till  a  messenger  whom  he  had  despatched 
to  purchase  the  much-wished-for  blanket  re- 
turned. 

'Your  grandmother  will  sleep  well  upon  this 
good  blanket,  I  hope,'  said  the  gentleman,  as  he 
gave  it  into  Paul's  opened  arms.  'It  has  been  ob- 
tained for  her  by  the  honesty  of  her  adopted  chil- 
dren.' 


**He  would  phow  me  all  pretty  sca-sigrhts."  3S 


THE  SEA  VOYAGE. 

CHARLES  LAMB. 

1WAS  born  in  the  East  Indies.  I  lost  my 
father  and  mother  young.  At  the  age  of 
five  my  relations  thought  it  proper  that  I  should 
be  sent  to  England  for  my  education.  I  was  to 
be  entrusted  to  the  care  of  a  young  woman  who 
had  a  character  for  great  humanity  and  discre- 
tion; but  just  as  I  had  taken  leave  of  my  friends, 
and  we  were  about  to  take  our  passage,  the  young 
woman  suddenly  fell  sick,  and  could  not  go  on 
board.  In  this  unpleasant  emergency,  no  one 
knew  how  to  act.  The  ship  was  at  the  very  point 
of  sailing,  and  it  was  the  last  which  was  to  sail 
for  the  season.  At  length  the  captain,  who  was 
known  to  my  friends,  prevailed  upon  my  relation 
who  had  come  with  us  to  see  us  embark  to  leave 
the  young  woman  on  shore,  and  to  let  me  embark 
separately.  There  was  no  possibility  of  getting 
any  other  female  attendant  for  me  in  the  short 
time  allotted  for  our  preparation,  and  the  oppor- 
tunity of  going  by  that  ship  was  thought  too  val- 
uable to  be  lost  No  other  ladies  happened  to 
be  going,  and  so  I  was  consigned  to  the  care  of 
the  captain  and  his  crew — rough  and  unaccus- 
tomed attendants  for  a  young  creature,  delicately 

39 


40  THE  SEA  VOYAGE 

brought  up  as  I  had  been;  but,  indeed,  they  did 
their  best  to  make  me  not  feel  the  difference. 
The  unpohshed  sailors  were  my  nursery-maids 
and  my  waiting-women.  Everything  was  done  by 
the  captain  and  the  men  to  acommodate  me  and 
make  me  easy.  I  had  a  little  room  made  out  of 
the  cabin,  which  was  to  be  considered  as  my  room, 
and  nobody  might  enter  into  it.  The  first  mate 
made  a  great  character  for  bravery,  and  all  sailor- 
like accomplishments;  but  with  all  this  he  had  a 
gentleness  of  manners,  and  a  pale,  feminine  cast 
of  face,  from  ill-health  and  a  weakly  constitution, 
which  subjected  him  to  some  ridicule  from  th^ 
officcKS,  and  caused  him  to  be  named  Betsy.  He 
did  not  much  like  the  appellation,  but  he  submit- 
ted to  it  the  better,  saying  that  those  who  gave 
him  a  woman's  name  well  knew  that  he  had  a 
man's  heart,  and  that  in  the  face  of  danger  he 
would  go  as  far  as  any  man.  To  this  young  man, 
whose  real  name  was  Charles  Atkinson,  by  a 
lucky  thought  of  the  captain  the  care  of  me  was 
especially  entrusted.  Betsy  was  proud  of  his 
charge,  and,  to  do  him  justice,  acquitted  himself 
with  great  diligence  and  adroitness  through  the 
whole  of  the  voyage.  From  the  beginning  I  had 
somehow  looked  upon  Betsy  as  a  woman,  hear- 
ing him  so  spoken  of,  and  this  reconciled  me  in 
some  measure  to  the  want  of  a  maid,  which  I  had 
been  used  to.  But  I  was  a  manageable  girl  at 
all  times,  and  gave  nobody  much  trouble. 

I  have  not  knowledge  enough  to  give  an  ac^ 


THE  SEA  VOYAGE  41 

count  of  my  voyage,  or  to  remember  the  names 
of  the  seas  we  passed  through  or  the  lands  which 
we  touched  upon  in  our  course.  The  chief  thing 
I  can  remember  (for  I  do  not  recollect  the  events 
of  the  voyage  in  any  order)  was  Atkinson  taking 
me  upon  deck  to  see  the  great  whales  playing 
about  the  sea.  There  was  one  great  whale  came 
bounding  up  out  of  the  sea,  and  then  he  would 
dive  into  it  again,  and  then  he  would  come  up  at 
a  distance  where  nobody  expected  him,  and  an- 
other whale  was  following  after  him.  Atkinson 
said  they  were  at  play,  and  that  the  lesser  whale 
loved  that  bigger  whale,  and  kept  it  company  all 
through  the  wide  seas;  but  I  thought  it  strange 
play  and  a  frightful  kind  of  love,  for  I  every 
minute  expected  they  would  come  up  to  our  ship 
and  toss  it.  But  Atkinson  said  a  whale  was  a 
gentle  creature,  and  it  was  a  sort  of  sea-elephant, 
and  that  the  most  powerful  creatures  in  Nature 
are  always  the  least  hurtful.  And  he  told  me 
how  men  went  out  to  take  these  whales,  and  stuck 
long  pointed  darts  into  them;  and  how  the  sea  was 
discoloured  with  the  blood  of  these  poor  whales 
for  many  miles*  distance;  and  I  admired  the  cour- 
age of  the  men,  but  I  was  sorry  for  the  inoffen- 
sive whale.  Many  other  pretty  sights  he  used  to 
show  me,  when  he  was  not  on  watch  or  doing  some 
duty  for  the  ship.  No  one  was  more  attentive 
to  his  duty  than  he,  but  at  such  times  as  he  had 
leisure  he  would  show  me  all  pretty  sea-sights: 
the  dolphins  and  porpoises  that  came  before  a 


42  THE  SEA  VOYAGE 

storr^,  and  all  the  colours  which  the  sea  changed 
to — how  sometimes  it  was  a  deep  blue,  and  then  a 
deep  green,  and  sometimes  it  would  seem  all  on 
jSre.  All  these  various  appearances  he  would 
show  me,  and  attempt  to  explain  the  reason  of 
them  to  me,  as  well  as  my  young  capacity  would 
admit  of.  There  were  a  lion  and  a  tiger  on  board 
going  to  England  as  a  present  to  the  King,  and 
it  was  a  great  diversion  to  Atkinson  and  me,  after 
I  had  got  rid  of  my  first  terrors,  to  see  the  ways 
of  these  beasts  in  their  dens,  and  how  venturous 
the  sailors  were  in  putting  their  hands  through  the 
grates,  and  patting  their  rough  coats.  Some  of 
the  men  had  monkeys,  which  ran  loose  about,  and 
the  sport  was  for  the  men  to  lose  them,  and  find 
them  again.  The  monkeys  would  run  up  the 
shrouds  and  pass  from  rope  to  rope,  with  ten 
times  greater  alacrity  than  the  most  experienced 
sailor  could  follow  them,  and  sometimes  they 
would  hide  themselves  in  the  most  unthought-of 
places,  and  when  they  were  found,  they  would 
grin  and  make  mouths,  as  if  they  had  sense.  At- 
kinson described  to  me  the  ways  of  these  little 
animals  in  their  native  woods,  for  he  had  seen 
them.  Oh,  how  many  ways  he  thought  of  to 
amuse  me  in  that  long  voyage! 

Sometimes  he  would  describe  to  me  the  odd 
shapes  and  varieties  of  fishes  that  were  in  the  sea, 
and  tell  me  tales  of  the  sea-monsters  that  lay  hid 
at  the  bottom,  and  were  seldom  seen  by  men,  and 
what  a  glorious  sight  it  would  be  if  our  eyes  could 


THE  SEA  VOYAGE  43 

be  sharpened  to  behold  all  the  inhabitants  of  the 
sea  at  once,  swimming  in  the  great  deeps,  as  plain 
as  we  see  the  gold  and  silver  fish  in  a  bowl  of  glass. 
With  such  notions  he  enlarged  my  infant  capacity 
to  take  in  many  things. 

When  in  foul  weather  I  have  been  terrified  at 
the  motion  of  the  vessel,  as  it  rocked  backwards 
and  forwards,  he  would  still  my  fears,  and  tell  me 
that  I  used  to  be  rocked  so  once  in  a  cradle,  and 
that  the  sea  was  God's  bed  and  the  ship  our  cradle, 
and  we  were  as  safe  in  that  great  motion  as  when 
we  felt  that  lesser  one  in  our  little  wooden  sleep- 
ing-places. When  the  wind  was  up,  and  sang 
through  the  sails,  and  disturbed  me  with  its  vio- 
lent clamours,  he  would  call  it  music,  and  bid  me 
hark  to  the  sea-organ,  and  with  that  name  he 
quieted  my  tender  apprehensions.  When  I  have 
looked  around  with  a  mournful  face  at  seeing  all 
men  about  me,  he  would  enter  into  my  thoughts, 
and  tell  me  pretty  stories  of  his  mother  and  his 
sisters,  and  a  female  cousin  that  he  loved  better 
than  his  sisters,  whom  he  called  Jenny,  and  say 
that  when  we  got  to  England  I  should  go  and 
see  them,  and  how  fond  Jenny  would  be  of  his 
little  daughter,  as  he  called  me;  and  with  these 
images  of  women  and  females  which  he  raised  in 
my  fancy  he  quieted  me  for  a  while.  One  time, 
and  never  but  once  he  told  me  that  Jenny  had 
promised  to  be  his  wife  if  ever  he  came  to  Eng- 
land, but  that  he  had  his  doubts  whether  he  should 


44  THE  SEA  VOYAGE 

live  to  get  home,  for  he  was  very  sickly.     This 
made  me  cry  bitterly. 

That  I  dwell  so  long  upon  the  attention  of  this 
Atkinson  is  only  because  his  death,  which  hap- 
pened just  before  we  got  to  England,  affected  me 
so  mudh,  that  he  alone  of  all  the  ship's  crew  has 
engrossed  my  mind  ever  since,  though,  indeed, 
the  captain  and  all  were  singularly  kind  to  me, 
and  strove  to  make  up  for  my  uneasy  and  unnat- 
ural situation.  The  boatswain  would  pipe  for  my 
diversion,  and  the  sailor-boy  would  climb  the  dan- 
gerous mast  for  my  sport.  The  rough  foremast- 
man  would  never  willingly  appear  before  me  till 
he  had  combed  his  long  black  hair  smooth  and 
sleek,  not  to  terrify  me.  The  officers  got  up  a 
sort  of  play  for  my  amusement,  and  Atkinson, 
or,  as  they  called  him,  Betsy,  acted  the  heroine 
of  the  piece.  All  ways  that  could  be  contrived 
were  thought  upon  to  reconcile  me  to  my  lot.  I 
was  the  imiversal  favourite.  I  do  not  know  how 
deservedly,  but  I  suppose  it  was  because  I  was 
alone,  and  there  was  no  female  in  the  ship  besides 
me.  Had  I  come  over  with  female  relations  or  at- 
tendants, I  should  have  excited  no  particular  curi- 
osity, I  should  have  required  no  uncommon 
attentions  I  was  one  little  woman  among  a  crew 
of  men,  and  I  believe  the  homage  which  I  have 
read  that  men  universally  pay  to  women  was  in 
this  case  directed  to  me,  in  the  absence  of  all  other 
womankind.     I  do  not  know  how  that  might  be, 


THE  SEA  VOYAGE  45 

but  I  was  a  little  princess  among  them,  and  I  was 
not  six  years  old, 

I  remember  the  first  drawback  which  happened 
to  my  comfort  was  Atkinson's  not  appearing  the 
whole  of  one  day.  The  captain  tried  to  reconcile 
me  to  it  by  saying  that  Mr.  Atkinson  was  con- 
fined to  his  cabin,  that  he  was  not  quite  well,  but 
a  day  or  two  would  restore  him.  I  begged  to  be 
taken  in  to  see  him,  but  this  was  not  granted.  A 
day,  and  then  another  came,  and  another,  and  no 
Atkinson  was  visible,  and  I  saw  apparent  solici- 
tude in  the  faces  of  all  the  officers,  who  neverthe- 
less strove  to  put  on  their  best  countenances  be- 
fore me,  and  to  be  more  than  usually  kind  to  me. 
At  length,  by  the  desire  of  Atkinson  himself,  as 
I  have  since  learned,  I  was  permitted  to  go  into 
his  cabin  and  see  him.  He  was  sitting  up,  ap- 
parently in  a  state  of  great  exhaustion;  but  his 
face  lighted  up  when  he  saw  me,  and  he  kissed 
me,  and  told  me  that  he  was  going  a  great  voy- 
age, far  longer  than  that  which  we  had  passed 
together,  and  he  should  never  come  back;  and 
though  I  was  so  young,  I  understood  well  enough 
that  he  meant  this  of  his  death,  and  I  cried  sadly; 
but  he  comforted  me,  and  told  me  that  I  must  be 
his  little  executrix,  and  perform  his  last  will,  and 
bear  his  last  words  to  his  mother  and  his  sisters, 
and  to  his  cousin  Jenny,  whom  I  should  see  in  a 
short  time,  and  he  gave  me  his  blessing,  as  a  father 
would  bless  bis  child,  and  he  sent  a  last  kiss  by 
me  to  all  his  female  relations,  and  he  made  me 


46  THE  SEA  VOYAGE 

promise  that  I  would  go  and  see  them  when  I 
got  to  England,  and  soon  after  this  he  died.  But 
I  was  in  another  part  of  the  ship  when  he  died, 
and  I  was  not  told  it  till  we  got  to  shore,  which 
was  a  few  days  after.  But  they  kept  telling  me 
that  he  was  better  and  better,  and  that  I  should 
soon  see  him,  but  that  it  disturbed  him  to  talk  with 
anyone.  Oh,  what  a  grief  it  was  when  I  learned 
that  I  had  lost  an  old  shipmate,  that  had  made  an 
irksome  situation  so  bearable  by  his  kind  assidu- 
ities, and  to  think  that  he  was  gone,  and  I  could 
never  repay  him  for  his  kindness! 

When  I  had  been  a  year  and  a  half  in  England, 
the  captain,  who  had  made  another  voyage  to  In- 
dia and  back,  thinking  that  time  alleviated  a  little 
the  sorrow  of  Atkinson's  relations,  prevailed  upon 
my  friends  who  had  the  care  of  me  in  England 
to  let  him  introduce  me  to  Atkinson's  mother  and 
sisters.  Jenny  was  no  more ;  she  had  died  in  the 
interval,  and  I  never  saw  her.  Grief  for  his 
death  had  brought  on  a  consumption,  of  which  she 
lingered  about  a  twelvemonth,  and  then  expired. 
But  in  the  mother  and  the  sisters  of  this  excellent 
young  man  I  have  found  the  most  valuable 
friends  I  possess  on  tbi<5  side  the  great  ocean. 
They  received  me  from  the  captain  as  the  little 
protege  of  Atkinson,  and  from  them  I  have 
learned  passages  of  his  former  life,  and  this  in 
particular — that  the  illness  of  which  he  died  was 
brought  on  by  a  wound  of  which  he  never  quite 
recovered  which  he  got  in  the  desperate  attempt. 


THE  SEA  VOYAGE  47 

when  he  was  quite  a  boy,  to  defend  his  captain 
against  a  superior  force  of  the  enemy  which  had 
boarded  him,  and  which,  by  his  premature  valour, 
inspiriting  the  men,  they  finally  succeeded  in  re- 
pulsing. This  was  that  Atkinson  who,  from  his 
pale  and  feminine  appearance,  was  called  Betsy. 
This  was  he  whose  womanly  care  of  me  got  him 
the  name  of  a  woman,  who,  with  more  than  fe- 
male attention,  condescended  to  play  the  hand- 
maid to  a  little  unaccompanied  orphan  that  for- 
tune had  cast  upon  the  care  of  a  rough  sea-captain 
and  his  rougher  crew. 


.^ 


*Many  sheets  were  scrawled  over  in  vain, 
nothing  else.*' 


I  could  think  of 


THE  CHANGELING. 

MARY  LAMB. 

MY  name,  you  know,  is  Withers;  but  as  I 
once  thought  I  was  the  daughter  of  Sir 
Edward  and  Lady  Harriet  Lesley,  I  shall  speak 
of  myself  as  Miss  Lesley,  and  call  Sir  Edward 
and  Lady  Harriet  my  father  and  mother  during 
the  period  I  supposed  them  entitled  to  those  be- 
loved names.  When  I  was  a  little  girl,  it  was  the 
perpetual  subject  of  my  contemplation  that  I  was 
an  heiress,  and  the  daughter  of  a  baronet;  that  my 
mother  was  the  Honourable  Lady  Harriet;  that 
we  had  a  nobler  mansion,  infinitely  finer  pleasure- 
grounds,  and  equipages  more  splendid  than  any 
of  the  neighbouring  families.  I  am  ashamed  to 
confess  what  a  proud  child  I  once  was.  How  it 
happened  I  cannot  tell,  for  my  father  was  es- 
teemed the  best-bred  man  in  the  country,  and  the 
condescension  and  affability  of  my  mother  were 
universally  spoken  of. 

Alas!  I  am  a  changeling,  substituted  by  my 
mother  for  the  heiress  of  the  Lesley  family.  It 
was  for  my  sake  she  did  this  naughty  deed ;  yet, 
since  the  truth  has  been  known,  it  seems  to  me 
as  if  I  had  been  the  only  sufferer  by  it ;  remember- 
ing no  time  when  I  was  not  Harriet  Lesley,  it 

49 


50  THE  CHANGELING 

seems  as  if  the  change  had  taken  from  me  my 
birthright. 

Lady  Harriet  had  intended  to  nurse  her  child 
herself,  but  being  seized  with  a  violent  fever  soon 
after  its  birth,  she  was  not  only  unable  to  nurse  it 
but  even  to  see  it,  for  several  weeks.  I  was  not 
quite  a  month  old  at  this  time  when  my  mother 
was  hired  to  be  Miss  Lesley's  nurse.  She  had 
once  been  a  servant  in  the  family;  her  husband 
was  then  at  sea. 

She  had  been  nursing  Miss  Lesley  a  few  days, 
when  a  girl  who  had  the  care  of  me  brought  me 
into  the  nursery  to  see  my  mother.  It  happened 
that  she  wanted  something  from  her  own  home, 
which  she  despatched  the  girl  to  fetch,  and  desired 
her  to  leave  me  till  her  return.  In  her  absence 
she  changed  our  clothes;  then,  keeping  me  to 
personate  the  child  she  was  nursing,  she  sent  away 
the  daughter  of  Sir  Edward  to  be  brought  up  in 
her  own  poor  cottage. 

When  my  mother  sent  away  the  girl,  she  af- 
firmed she  had  not  the  least  intention  of  commit- 
ting this  bad  action ;  but  after  she  was  left  alone 
with  us,  she  looked  on  me,  and  then  on  the  little 
lady  baby,  and  she  wept  over  me,  to  think  she  was 
obliged  to  leave  me  to  the  charge  of  a  careless 
girl,  debarred  from  my  own  natural  food,  while 
she  was  nursing  another  person's  child. 

The  laced  cap  and  the  fine  cambric  robe  of  the 
little  Harriet  were  lying  on  the  table  ready  to  be 
put  on.     In  these  she  dressed  me,  only  just  to  see 


THE  CHANGELING  51 

how  pretty  her  own  dear  baby  would  look  in 
missy's  fine  clothes.  When  she  saw  me  thus 
adorned,  she  said  to  me : 

'Oh,  my  dear  Ann,  you'iook  as  like  missy  as 
anything  can  be !  I  am  sure  my  lady  herself,  if 
she  were  well  enough  to  see  you,  would  not  know 
the  difference !' 

She  said  these  words  aloud,  and  while  she  was 
speaking  a  wicked  thought  came  into  her  head — 
how  easy  it  would  be  to  change  these  children ! 
On  which  she  hastily  dressed  Harriet  in  my  coarse 
raiment.  She  had  no  sooner  finished  the  trans- 
formation of  Miss  Lesley  into  the  poor  Ann 
Withers  than  the  girl  returned,  and  carried  her 
away,  without  the  least  suspicion  that  it  was  not 
the  same  infant  that  she  had  brought  thither. 

It  was  wonderful  that  no  one  discovered  that  I 
was  not  the  same  child.  Every  fresh  face  that 
came  into  the  room  filled  the  nurse  with  terror. 
The  servants  still  continued  to  pay  their  compli- 
ments to  the  baby  in  the  same  form  as  usual,  cry- 
ing: 

TIow  like  it  is  to  its  father!' 

Nor  did  Sir  Edward  himself  perceive  the  dif- 
ference, his  lady's  illness  probably  engrossing  all 
his  attention  at  the  time,  though,  indeed,  gentle- 
men seldom  take  much  notice  of  very  young 
children. 

When  Lady  Harriet  began  to  recover,  and  the 
nurse  saw  me  in  her  arms  caressed  as  her  own 
child,  all  fears  of  detection  were  over;  but  the 


52  THE  CHANGELING 

pangs  of  remorse  then  seized  her.  As  the  dear 
sick  lady  hung  with  tears  of  fondness  over  me, 
she  thought  she  should  have  died  with  sorrow  for 
having  so  cruelly  deceived  her. 

When  I  was  a  year  old,  Mrs.  Withers  was  dis- 
charged, and  because  she  had  been  observed  to 
nurse  me  with  uncommon  care  and  affection,  and 
was  seen  to  shed  many  tears  at  parting  from  me, 
to  reward  her  fidelity  Sir  Edward  settled  a  small 
pension  on  her,  and  she  was  allowed  to  come 
every  Sunday  to  dine  in  the  housekeeper's  room, 
and  see  her  little  lady. 

When  she  went  home,  it  might  have  been  ex- 
pected she  would  have  neglected  the  child  she  had 
so  wickedly  stolen,  instead  of  which  she  nursed  it 
with  the  greatest  tenderness^  being  very  sorry  for 
what  she  had  done.  All  the  ease  she  could  ever 
find  for  her  troubled  conscience  was  in  her  ex- 
treme care  of  this  injured  child,  and  in  the  weekly 
visits  to  its  father's  house  she  constantly  brought 
it  with  her.  At  the  time  I  have  the  earliest  rec- 
ollection of  her  she  was  become  a  widow,  and  with 
the  pension  Sir  Edward  allowed  her,  and  some 
plain  work  she  did  for  our  family,  she  main- 
tained herself  and  her  supposed  daughter.  The 
doting  fondness  she  showed  for  her  child  was 
much  talked  of.  It  was  said  she  waited  upon  it 
more  like  a  servant  than  a  mother,  and  it  was  ob- 
served its  clothes  were  always  made,  as  far  as 
her  slender  means  would  permit,  in  the  same  fash- 
ion, and  her  hair  cut  and  curled  in  the  sam/^  f  orni. 


THE  CHANGELING  53 

as  mine.  To  this  person,  as  having  been  my 
faithful  nurse,  and  to  her  child,  I  was  always 
taught  to  show  particular  civility,  and  the 
little  girl  was  always  brought  into  the  nursery  to 
play  with  me.  Ann  was  a  little  delicate  thing, 
and  remarkably  well  behaved,  for,  though  so 
much  indulged  in  every  other  respect,  my  mother 
was  very  attentive  to  her  manners. 

As  the  child  grew  older  my  mother  became  very 
uneasy  about  her  education.  She  was  so  very  de- 
sirous of  having  her  well  behaved  that  she  feared 
to  send  her  to  school,  lest  she  should  learn  ill  man- 
ners among  the  village  children,  with  whom  she 
never  suffered  her  to  play,  and  she  was  such  a 
poor  scholar  herself  that  she  could  teach  her  little 
or  nothing.  I  heard  her  relate  this  her  distress 
to  my  own  maid,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  I 
formed  a  resolution  to  beg  of  my  parents  that  I 
might  have  Ann  for  a  companion,  and  that  she 
might  be  allowed  to  take  lessons  with  me  of  my 
governess. 

My  birthday  was  then  approaching,  and  on 
that  day  I  was  always  indulged  in  the  privilege 
of  asking  some  peculiar  favour. 

*And  what  boon  has  my  annual  petitioner  to 
beg  to-day?'  said  my  father,  as  he  entered  the 
breakfast-room  on  the  morning  of  my  birthday. 

Then  I  told  him  of  the  great  anxiety  expressed 
by  Nurse  Withers  concerning  her  daughter;  how 
much  she  wished  it  was  in  her  power  to  give  her 
an  education  that  would  enable  her  to  get  her  liv- 


54  .  THE  CHANGELING 

ing  without  hard  labour.  I  set  the  good  qualities 
of  Ann  Withers  in  the  best  light  I  could,  and  in 
conclusion  I  begged  she  might  be  permitted  to 
partake  with  me  in  education,  and  become  my 
companion. 

'This  is  a  very  serious  request  indeed,  Harriet,' 
said  Sir  Edward.  *Your  mother  and  I  must 
consult  together  on  the  subject.' 

The  result  of  this  conversation  was  favourable 
to  my  wishes.  In  a  few  weeks  my  foster-sister 
was  taken  into  the  house,  and  placed  under  the 
tuition  of  my  governess. 

To  me,  who  had  hitherto  lived  without  any 
companions  of  my  own  age,  except  occasional 
visitors,  the  idea  of  a  play-fellow  constantly  to 
associate  with  was  very  pleasant,  and,  after  the 
first  shyness  of  feeling  her  altered  situation  was 
over,  Ann  seemed  as  much  at  her  ease  as  if  she 
had  always  been  brought  up  in  our  house.  1 
became  very  fond  of  her,  and  took  pleasure  in 
showing  her  all  manner  of  attentions,  which  so 
far  won  on  her  affections  that  she  told  me  she 
had  a  secret  entrusted  to  her  by  her  mother,  which 
she  had  promised  never  to  reveal  as  long  as  her 
mother  lived,  but  that  she  almost  wished  to  can- 
fide  it  to  me,  because  I  was  such  a  kind  friend 
to  her;  yet,  having  promised  never  to  tell  it  till 
the  death  of  her  mother,  she  was  afraid  to  tell  it 
to  me.  At  first  I  assured  her  that  I  would  never 
press  her  to  the  disclosure,  for  that  promises  of 
secrecy  were  to  be  held  sacred;  but  whenever  we 


THE  CHANGELING  55 

fell  into  any  confidential  kind  of  conversation, 
this  secret  seemed  always  ready  to  come  out. 
Whether  she  or  I  were  most  to  blame,  I  know 
not,  though  I  own  I  could  not  help  giving  fre- 
quently hints  how  well  I  could  keep  a  secret.  At 
length  she  told  me  what  I  have  before  related — 
namely,  that  she  was  in  truth  the  daughter  of  Sir 
Edward  and  Lady  Lesley,  and  I  the  child  of  her 
supposed  mother. 

When  I  was  first  in  possession  of  this  wonder- 
ful secret,  my  heart  burned  to  reveal  it.  I 
thought  how  praiseworthy  it  would  be  in  me  to 
restore  to  my  friend  the  rights  of  her  birth ;  yet  I 
thought  only  of  becoming  her  patroness,  and  rais- 
ing her  to  her  proper  rank.  It  never  occurred 
to  me  that  my  own  degradation  must  necessarily 
follow.  I  endeavoured  to  persuade  her  to  let  me 
tell  this  important  affair  to  my  parents.  This  she 
positively  refused.  I  expressed  wonder  that  she 
should  so  faithfully  keep  this  secret  for  an  un- 
worthy woman,  who  in  her  infancy  had  done  her 
such  an  injury. 

'Oh,'  said  she,  *you  do  not  know  how  much  she 
loves  me,  or  you  would  not  wonder  that  I  never 
resent  that.  I  have  seen  her  grieve  and  be  so  very 
sorry  on  my  account  that  I  would  not  bring  her 
into  more  trouble  for  any  good  that  could  happen 
to  myself.  She  has  often  told  me  that,  since  the 
day  she  changed  us,  she  has  never  known  what  it 
is  to  have  a  happy  moment,  and  when  she  re- 
turned home  from  nursing  you,  finding  me  very 


56  THE  CHANGELING 

thin  and  sickly,  how  her  heart  smote  her  for  what 
she  had  done;  and  then  she  nursed  and  fed  me 
with  such  anxious  care  that  she  grew  much  fonder 
of  me  than  if  I  had  been  her  own,  and  that  on 
the  Sundays  when  she  used  to  bring  me  here  it  was 
more  pleasure  to  her  to  see  me  in  my  father's 
own  house  than  it  was  to  her  to  see  you,  her  real 
child.  The  shyness  you  showed  towards  her  while 
you  were  very  young,  and  the  forced  civility  you 
seemed  to  affect  as  you  grew  older,  always  ap- 
peared like  ingratitude  towards  her  who  had  done 
so  much  for  you.  My  mother  has  desired  me  to 
disclose  this  after  her  death,  but  I  do  not  believe 
I  shall  ever  mention  it  then,  for  I  should  be  sorry 
to  bring  any  reproach  even  on  her  memory.' 

In  a  short  time  after  this  important  discovery, 
Ann  was  sent  home  to  pass  a  few  weeks  with  her 
mother,  on  the  occasion  of  the  unexpected  arrival 
of  some  visitors  to  our  house.  They  were  to  bring 
children  with  them,  and  these  I  was  to  consider  as 
my  own  guests. 

In  the  expected  arrival  of  my  young  visitants, 
and  in  making  preparations  to  entertain  them,  I 
had  little  leisure  to  deliberate  on  what  conduct  I 
should  pursue  with  regard  to  my  friend's  secret. 
Something  must  be  done,  I  thought,  to  make  her 
amends  for  the  injury  she  had  sustained,  and  I 
resolved  to  consider  the  matter  attentively  on  her 
return.  Still  my  mind  ran  on  conferring  fav- 
ours. I  never  considered  myself  as  transformed 
into  the  dependent  person.     Indeed,  Sir  Edward 


THE  CHANGELING  57 

at  this  time  set  me  about  a  task  which  occupied 
the  whole  of  my  attention.  He  proposed  that  I 
should  write  a  little  interlude,  after  the  manner 
of  the  French  'Petites  Pieces/  and  to  try  my  in- 
genuity, no  one  was  to  see  it  before  the  represen- 
tation, except  the  performers,  myself,  and  my 
little  friends,  who,  as  they  were  all  younger  than 
I,  could  not  be  expected  to  lend  me  much  assist- 
ance. I  have  already  told  you  what  a  proud  girl 
I  was.  During  the  writing  of  this  piece,  the  re- 
ceiving of  my  young  friends,  and  the  instructing 
them  in  their  several  parts,  I  never  felt  myself  of 
so  much  importance.  With  Ann  my  pride  had 
somewhat  slumbered.  The  difference  of  our 
rank  left  no  room  for  competition;  all  was  com- 
placency and  good-humour  on  my  part,  and  affec- 
tionate gratitude,  tempered  with  respect,  on  hers. 
But  here  I  had  full  room  to  show  courtesy,  to  af- 
fect those  graces,  to  imitate  that  elegance  of  man- 
ners, practised  by  Lady  Harriet  to  their  mothers. 
I  was  to  be  their  instructress  in  action  and  in  at- 
titudes, and  to  receive  their  praises  and  their  ad- 
miration of  my  theatrical  genius.  It  was  a  new 
scene  of  triumph  for  me,  and  I  might  then  be 
said  to  be  in  the  very  height  of  my  glory. 

If  the  plot  of  my  piece,  for  the  invention  of 
which  they  so  highly  praised  me,  had  been  indeed 
my  own,  all  would  have  been  well;  but  unhappily 
I  borrowed  from  a  source  which  made  my  drama 
end  far  differently  from  what  I  intended  it 
should.     In  the  catastrophe  I  lost  not  only  the 


58  THE  CHANGELING 

name  I  personated  in  the  piece,  but  with  it  my 
own  name  also,  and  all  my  rank  and  consequence 
in  the  world  fled  from  me  for  ever.  My  father 
presented  me  with  a  beautiful  writing-desk  for  the 
use  of  my  new  authorship.  My  silver  standish 
was  placed  upon  it ;  a  quire  of  gilt  paper  was  be- 
fore me.  I  took  out  a  parcel  of  my  best  crow 
quills,  and  down  I  sate  in  the  greatest  form  im- 
aginable. 

I  conjecture  I  have  no  talent  for  invention. 
Certain  it  is  that,  when  I  sat  down  to  compose 
my  piece,  no  story  would  come  into  my  head  but 
the  story  which  Ann  had  so  lately  related  to  me. 
Many  sheets  were  scrawled  over  in  vain;  I  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  Still  the  babies  and  the 
nurse  were  before  me  in  all  the  minutiae  of  de- 
scription Ann  had  given  them.  The  costly  attire 
of  the  lady  baby,  the  homely  garb  of  the  cottage 
infant,  the  affecting  address  of  the  fond  mother 
to  her  own  offspring,  then  the  charming  equi- 
voque in  the  change  of  the  children — it  all  looked 
so  dramatic.  It  was  a  play  ready-made  to  my 
hands.  The  invalid  mother  would  form  the 
pathetic,  the  silly  exclamations  of  the  servants  the 
ludicrous,  and  the  nurse  was  nature  itself.  It  is 
true  I  had  a  few  scruples  that  it  might,  should  it 
come  to  the  knowledge  of  Ann,  be  construed  into 
something  very  like  a  breach  of  confidence.  But 
she  was  at  home,  and  might  never  happen  to  hear 
of  the  subject  of  my  piece,  and  if  she  did,  why,  it 
was  only  making  some  handsome  apology.     To 


69 


**Thc  girl  carried  her  away  without  the  least  suspicion  that  it  was 

not  the  same  infant/' 


60  THE  CHANGELING 

a  dependent  companion  to  whom  I  had  been  so 
very  great  a  friend,  it  was  not  necessary  to  be  so 
very  particular  about  such  a  trifle. 

Thus  I  reasoned  as  I  wrote  my  drama,  begin- 
ning with  the  title,  which  I  called  'The  Change- 
ling,' and  ending  with  these  words:  'The  curtain 
drops,  while  the  lady  clasps  the  baby  in  her  arms, 
and  the  nurse  sighs  audibly/  I  invented  no  new 
incident ;  I  simply  wrote  the  story  as  Ann  had  told 
it  to  me,  in  the  best  blank  verse  I  was  able  to  com- 
pose. 

By  the  time  it  was  finished  the  company  had 
an'ived.     The  casting  the  different  parts  was  my 

next  care.     The  Honourable  Augustus  M ,  a 

young  gentleman  of  five  years  of  age,  undertook 
to  play  the  father.  He  was  only  to  come  in  and 
say:  *How  does  my  little  darling  do  to-day?' 

The  three  Miss s  were  to  be  the  servants ;  they, 

too,  had  only  single  lines  to  speak. 

As  these  four  were  all  very  young  performers, 
we  made  them  rehearse  many  times  over,  that  they 
might  walk  in  and  out  with  proper  decorum ;  but 
the  performance  was  stopped  before  their  en- 
trances and  their  exits  arrived.  I  complimented 
Lady  Elizabeth,  the  sister  of  Augustus,  who  was 
the  eldest  of  the  young  ladies,  with  the  choice 
of  the  lady  mother,  or  the  nurse.  She  fixed  on 
the  former.  She  was  to  recline  on  a  sofa,  and, 
affecting  ill-health,  speak  some  eight  or  ten  lines, 
which  began  with,  'Oh,  that  I  could  my  precious 

baby  see!'     To  their  cousin,  Miss  Emily ,was 

given  the  girl  who  had  the  care  of  the  nurse's 


THE  CHANGELING  61 

child.  Two  dolls  were  to  personate  the  two  chil- 
dren, and  the  principal  character  of  the  nurse  I 
had  the  pleasure  to  perform  myself.  It  consisted 
of  several  speeches,  and  a  very  long  soliloquy 
during  the  changing  of  the  children's  clothes. 

The  elder  brother  of  Augustus,  a  gentleman 
of  fifteen  years  of  age,  refused  to  mix  in  our 
childish  drama,  yet  condescended  to  paint  the 
scenes,  and  our  dresses  were  got  up  by  my  own 
maid. 

When  we  thought  ourselves  quite  perfect  in 
our  several  parts,  we  announced  it  for  representa- 
tion. Sir  Edward  and  Lady  Harriet,  with  their 
visitors,  the  parents  of  my  young  troop  of  com- 
edians, honoured  us  with  their  presence.  The 
servants  were  also  permitted  to  go  into  a  music- 
gallery,  which  was  at  the  end  of  a  ball-room  we 
had  chosen  for  our  theatre. 

As  author  and  principal  performer,  standing 
before  a  noble  audience,  my  mind  was  too  much 
engaged  with  the  arduous  task  I  had  undertaken 
to  glance  my  eyes  towards  the  music-gallery,  or 
I  might  have  seen  two  more  spectators  there  than 
I  expected.  Nurse  Withers  and  her  daughter 
Ann  were  there;  they  had  been  invited  by  the 
housekeeper  to  be  present  at  the  representation  of 
Miss  Lesley's  play. 

In  the  midst  of  the  performance,  as  I,  in  char- 
acter of  the  nurse,  was  delivering  the  wrong  child 
to  the  girl,  there  was  an  exclamation  from  the 
music-gallery  of: 


W  THE  CHANGELING 

'Oh,  it's  all  true!  it's  all  true!' 

This  was  followed  by  a  bustle  among  the  ser- 
vants, and  screams  as  of  a.  person  in  an  hysteric 
fit.  Sir  Edward  came  forward  to  inquire  what 
was  the  matter.  He  saw  it  was  Mrs.  Withers 
who  had  fallen  into  a  fit.  Ann  was  weeping  over 
her,  and  crying  out: 

*Oh,  Miss  Lesley,  you  have  told  all  in  the  play  T 

Mrs.  Withers  was  brought  out  into  the  ball- 
room. There,  with  tears  and  in  broken  accents, 
with  every  sign  of  terror  and  remorse,  she  soon 
made  a  full  confession  of  her  so  long-concealed 
guilt. 

The  strangers  assembled  to  see  our  childish 
mimicry  of  passion  were  witnesses  to  a  highly- 
wrought  dramatic  scene  in  real  life.  I  intended 
that  they  should  see  the  curtain  drop  without  any 
discovery  of  the  deceit.  Unable  to  invent  any 
new  incident,  I  left  the  conclusion  imperfect  as 
I  found  it.  But  they  saw  a  more  strict  poetical 
justice  done;  they  saw  the  rightful  child  restored 
to  its  parents,  and  the  nurse  overwhelmed  with 
shame,  and  threatened  with  the  severest  punish- 
ment. 

*Take  this  woman,'  said  Sir  Edward,  *and  lock 
her  up  till  she  be  delivered  into  the  hands  of  jus- 
tice.' 

Ann,  on  her  knees,  implored  mercy  for  her 
mother.  Addressing  the  children,  who  were 
gathered  round  her,  'Dear  ladies,'  said  she,  'help 
me — on  your  knees  help  me — to  beg  forgiveness 


THE  CHANGELING  6^ 

for  my  mother  T  Down  the  young  ones  all  drop- 
ped; even  Lady  Elizabeth  bent  on  her  knee. 
*Sir  Edward,  pity  her  distress !  Sir  Edward  par- 
don her!' 

All  joined  in  the  petition  except  one,  whose 
voice  ought  to  have  been  loudest  in  the  appeal. 
No  word,  no  accent  came  from  me.  I  hung  over 
Lady  Harriet's  chair,  weeping  as  if  my  heart 
would  break.  But  I  wept  for  my  own  fallen 
fortunes,  not  for  my  mother's  sorrow. 

I  thought  within  myself:  'If  in  the  integrity 
of  my  heart,  refusing  to  participate  in  this  unjust 
secret,  I  had  boldly  ventured  to  publish  the  truth, 
I  might  have  had  some  consolation  in  the  praises 
which  so  generous  an  action  would  have  merited ; 
but  it  is  through  the  vanity  of  being  supposed  to 
have  written  a  pretty  story  that  I  have  meanly 
broken  my  faith  with  my  friend,  and  unintention- 
ally proclaimed  the  disgrace  of  my  mother  and 
myself.' 

While  thoughts  like  these  were  passing  through 
my  mind,  Ann  had  obtained  my  mother's  pardon. 
Instead  of  being  sent  away  to  confinement  and 
the  horrors  of  a  prison,  she  was  given  by  Sir  Ed- 
ward into  the  care  of  the  housekeeper,  who  had 
orders  from  Lady  Harriet  to  see  her  put  to  bed 
and  properly  attended  to,  for  again  this  wretched 
woman  had  fallen  into  a  fit. 

Ann  would  have  followed  my  mother,  but  Sir 
Edward  brought  her  back,  telling  her  that  she 
should  see  her  when  she  was  better.     He  then  led 


64  THE  CHANGELING 

her  towards  Lady  Harriet,  desiring  her  to  em- 
brace her  child.  She  did  so,  and  I  saw  her,  as  I 
had  phrased  it  in  the  play,  'clasped  in  her  mother's 
arms.' 

This  scene  had  greatly  aflfected  the  spirits  of 
Lady  Harriet.  Through  the  whole  of  it,  it  was 
with  difficulty  she  had  been  kept  from  fainting, 
and  she  was  now  led  into  the  drawing-room  by 
the  ladies.  The  gentlemen  followed,  talking 
with  Sir  Edward  of  the  astonishing  instance  of 
filial  affection  they  had  just  seen  in  the  earnest 
pleadings  of  the  child  for  her  supposed  mother. 

Ann,  too,  went  with  them,  and  was  conducted 
by  her  whom  I  had  always  considered  as  my  own 
particular  friend.  Lady  Elizabeth  took  hold  of 
her  hand,  and  said : 

*Miss  Lesley,  will  you  permit  me  to  conduct 
you  to  the  drawing-room?' 

I  was  left  weeping  behind  the  chair  where  Lady 
Harriet  had  sate,  and,  as  I  thought,  quite  alone. 
A  something  had  before  twitched  my  frock  two 
or  three  times,  so  slightly  I  had  scarcely  noticed 
it.  A  little  head  now  peeped  round,  and  looking 
up  in  my  face,  said : 

'She  is  not  Miss  Lesley!' 

It  was  the  young  Augustus.  He  had  been  sit- 
ting at  my  feet,  but  I  had  not  observed  him.  He 
then  started  up,  and  taking  hold  of  my  hand  with 
one  of  his,  with  the  other  holding  fast  by  my 
clothes,  he  led,  or  rather  dragged,  me  into  the 
midst  of  the  company  assembled  in  the  drawing- 


THE  CHANGELING  65 

room.  The  vehemence  of  his  manner,  his  Uttle 
face  as  red  as  fire,  caught  every  eye.  The  ladies 
smiled,  and  one  gentleman  laughed  in  a  most  un- 
feeling manner.  His  elder  brother  patted  him  on 
the  head,  and  said: 

'You  are  a  humane  little  fellow.  Elizabeth,  we 
might  have  thought  of  this.' 

Very  kind  words  were  now  spoken  to  me  by 
Sir  Edward,  and  he  called  me  Harriet,  precious 
name  now  grown  to  me.  Lady  Harriet  kissed 
me,  and  said  she  would  never  forget  how  long 
she  had  loved  me  as  her  child.  These  were  com- 
fortable words,  but  I  heard  echoed  round  the 
room : 

'Poor  thing!  she  cannot  help  it!  I  am  sure  she 
is  to  be  pitied!  Dear  Lady  Harriet,  how  kind, 
how  considerate  you  are!' 

Ah!  what  a  deep  sense  of  my  altered  condition 
did  I  then  feel! 

'Let  the  young  ladies  divert  themselves  in  an- 
other room,'  said  Sir  Edward;  'and  Harriet,  take 
your  new  sister  with  you,  and  help  her  to  entertain 
your  friends.' 

Yes,  he  called  me  Harriet  again,  and  after- 
wards invented  new  names  for  his  daughter  and 
me,  and  always  called  us  by  them,  apparently  in 
jest;  yet  I  knew  it  was  only  because  he  would  not 
hurt  me  with  hearing  our  names  reversed.  When 
Sir  Edward  desired  us  to  show  the  children  into 
another  room,  Ann  and  I  walked  towards  the 
door.     A  new  sense  of  humiliation  arose.     How 


66  THE  CHANGELING 

could  I  go  out  at  the  door  before  Miss  Lesley?  I 
stood  irresolute.  She  drew  back.  The  elder 
brother  of  my  friend  Augustus  assisted  me  in  this 
perplexity.  Pushing  us  all  forward,  as  if  in  a 
playful  mood,  he  drove  us  indiscriminately  before 
him,  saying: 

*I  will  make  one  among  you  to-day.' 

He  had  never  joined  in  our  sports  before. 

My  luckless  play,  that  sad  instance  of  my  du- 
plicity, was  never  once  mentioned  to  me  after- 
wards, not  even  by  any  one  of  the  children  who 
had  acted  in  it,  and  I  must  also  tell  you  how  con- 
siderate an  old  lady  was  at  the  time  about  our 
dresses.  As  soon  as  she  perceived  things  grow- 
ing very  serious,  she  hastily  stripped  off  the  up- 
per garments  we  wore  to  represent  our  different 
characters.  I  think  I  should  have  died  with 
shame  if  the  child  had  led  me  into  the  drawing- 
room  in  the  mummery  I  had  worn  to  represent 
a  nurse.  This  good  lady  was  of  another  essential 
service  to  me,  for,  perceiving  an  irresolution  in 
everyone  how  they  should  behave  to  us,  which  dis- 
tressed me  very  much,  she  contrived  to  place  Miss 
Lesley  above  me  at  table,  and  called  her  Miss  Les- 
ley, and  me  Miss  Withers,  saying  at  the  same  time 
in  a  low  voice,  but  as  if  she  meant  I  should  hear 
her. 

'It  is  better  these  things  should  be  done  at  once, 
then  they  are  over.' 

My  heart  thanked  her,  for  I  felt  the  truth  of 
what  she  said. 


THE  CHANGELING  67 

My  poor  mother  continued  very  ill  for  many 
weeks.  No  medicine  could  remove  the  extreme 
dejection  of  spirits  she  laboured  under.  Sir  Ed- 
ward sent  for  Dr.  Wheelding,  the  clergyman  of 
the  parish,  to  give  her  religious  consolation.  Ev- 
ery day  he  came  to  visit  her,  and  he  would  always 
take  Miss  Lesley  and  me  into  the  room  with  him. 

My  heart  was  softened  by  my  own  misfortunes, 
and  the  sight  of  my  penitent,  suffering  mother. 
I  felt  that  she  was  now  my  only  parent.  I  strove, 
earnestly  strove,  to  love  her;  yet  ever  when  I 
looked  in  her  face,  she  would  seem  to  me  to  be 
the  very  indentical  person  whom  I  should  have 
once  thought  sufficiently  honoured  by  a  slight  in- 
clination of  the  head,  and  a  civil,  'How  do  you 
do,  Mrs  Withers?'  One  day,  as  Miss  Lesley  was 
hanging  over  her  with  her  accustomed  fondness, 
Dr.  Wheelding  reading  in  a  Prayer-Book,  and,  as 
I  thought,  not  at  that  moment  regarding  us,  I 
threw  myself  on  my  knees,  and  silently  prayed 
that  I,  too,  might  be  able  to  love  my  mother. 

Dr.  Wheelding  had  been  observing  me.  He 
took  me  into  the  garden,  and  drew  from  me  the 
subject  of  my  petition. 

'Your  prayers,  my  good  young  lady,'  said  he, 
*I  hope,  are  heard.  Sure  I  am  they  have  caused 
me  to  adopt  a  resolution  which,  as  it  will  enable 
you  to  see  your  mother  frequently,  will,  I  hope, 
greatly  assist  your  pious  wishes.  I  will  take  your 
mother  home  with  me  to  superintend  my  family. 
Under  my  roof  doubtless  Sir  Edward  will  often 


68  THE  CHANGELING 

permit  you  to  see  her.  Perform  your  duty  to- 
wards her  as  well  as  you  possibly  can.  Affection 
is  the  growth  of  time.  With  such  good  wishes 
in  your  young  heart,  do  not  despair  that  in  due 
time  it  will  assuredly  spring  up.' 

^ith  the  approbation  of  Sir  Edward  and  Lady 
Harriet,  my  mother  was  removed  in  a  few  days 
to  Dr.  Wheelding's  house.  There  she  soon  recov- 
ered! there  she  at  present  resides.  She  tells  me 
she  loves  me  almost  as  well  as  she  did  when  I  was 
a  baby,  and  we  both  wept  at  parting  when  I  went 
to  school. 


THE  INQUISITIVE  GIRL. 

A'NON. 

DR.  HAMMOND  was  a  physician  in  great 
practice  in  the  West  of  England.  He  re- 
sided in  a  small  market-town,  and  his  family  con- 
sisted of  one  son  named  Charles,  and  two  daugh- 
ters, Louisa  and  Sophy. 

Sophy  possessed  many  amiable  qualities,  and 
did  not  want  for  sense,  but  every  better  feeling 
was  lost  in  her  extreme  inquisitiveness.  Her  fac- 
ulties were  all  occupied  in  peeping  and  prying 
about,  and,  provided  she  could  gratify  her  own 
curiosity,  she  never  cared  how  much  vexation  she 
caused  to  others. 

This  propensity  began  when  she  was  so  very 
young  that  it  had  become  a  habit  before  her  par- 
ents perceived  it.  She  was  a  very  little  creature 
when  she  was  once  nearly  squeezed  to  death  be- 
tween two  double  doors  as  she  was  peeping 
through  the  keyhole  of  one  of  them  to  see  who 
was  in  the  drawing-room;  and  another  time  she 
was  locked  up  for  several  hours  in  a  closet  in 
which  she  had  hid  herself  for  the  purpose  of 
overhearing  what  her  mother  was  saying  to  one  of 
the  servants. 

When  Sophy  was  eleven  and  her  sister  about 

69 


70  THE  Inquisitive  girl 

sixteen  years  old  their  mother  died.  Louisa  was 
placed  at  the  head  of  her  father's  house,  and  the 
superintendence  of  Sophy's  education  necessarily 
devolved  on  her.  The  care  of  such  a  family  was  a 
great  charge  for  a  young  person  of  Miss  Ham- 
mond's age,  and  more  especially  as  her  father  was 
obliged  to  be  so  much  from  home  that  she  could 
not  always  have  his  counsel  and  advice  even  when 
she  most  needed  it.  By  this  means  she  fell  into 
an  injudicious  mode  of  treating  her  sister. 

If  Louisa  received  a  note  she  carefully  locked 
it  up,  and  never  spoke  of  its  contents  before 
Sophy.  If  a  message  was  brought  to  her  she  al- 
ways went  out  of  the  room  to  receive  it,  and  never 
suffered  the  servant  to  speak  in  her  sister's  hear- 
ing. When  any  visitors  came  Louisa  commonly 
sent  Sophy  out  of  the  room,  or  if  they  were  inti- 
mate friends  she  would  converse  with  them  in 
whispers;  in  short,  it  was  her  chief  study  that 
everything  which  passed  in  the  family  should  be  a 
secret  from  Sophy.  Alas !  this  procedure,  instead 
of  repressing  Sophy's  curiosity,  only  made  it  the 
more  keen ;  her  eyes  and  ears  were  always  on  the 
alert,  and  what  she  could  not  see,  hear,  or  thor- 
oughly comprehend  she  made  out  by  guesses. 

The  worst  consequence  of  Louisa's  conduct 
was  that  as  Sophy  had  no  friend  and  companion 
in  her  sister,  who  treated  her  with  such  constant 
suspicion  and  reserve,  she  necessarily  was  induced 
to  find  a  friend  and  companion  amongst  the  ser- 
vants, and  she  selected  the  housemaid   Sally,   a 


71 


If  Louisa  received  a  note  she  carefully  locked  it  up* 


72  THE  INQUISITIVE  GIRL 

good-natured,  well-intentioned  girl,  but  silly  and 
ignorant  and  inquisitive  like  herself,  and  it  may 
be  easily  supposed  how  much  mischief  these  two 
foolish  creatures  occasioned,  not  only  in  the  fam- 
ily, but  also  amongst  their  neighbours. 

It  happened  soon  after  that,  for  an  oiFence 
which  was  the  cause  of  very  great  vexation  to 
her  brother,  and  was  the  occasion  of  his  being  for 
a  time  deprived  of  the  friendship  of  Sir  Henry 
and  Lady  Askham,  two  of  Dr.  Hammond's  near- 
est and  most  intimate  neighbours,  her  father  6r- 
dered  Sophy,  as  a  still  further  punishment,  to  be 
locked  up  in  her  own  room  till  the  Sunday  follow- 
ing. This  was  on  Friday,  and  Sophy  had  two 
days  of  solitude  and  imprisonment  before  her. 
The  first  day  she  passed  very  dismally,  but  yet 
not  unprofitably,  for  she  felt  truly  ashamed  and 
sorry  for  her  fault,  and  made  many  good  resolu- 
tions of  endeavouring  to  cure  herself  of  her  mis- 
chievous propensity.  The  second  day  she  began 
to  be  somewhat  more  composed,  and  by  degrees 
she  was  able  to  amuse  herself  with  watching  the 
people  in  the  street,  which  was  overlooked  by  the 
windows  of  her  apartment,  and  she  began,  almost 
unconsciously  to  herself,  to  indulge  in  her  old 
habit  of  trying  to  find  out  what  everybody  was 
doing,  and  in  guessing  where  they  were  going. 

She  had  not  long  been  engaged  in  watching  her 
neighbours  before  her  curiosity  was  excited  by  the 
appearance  of  a  servant  on  horseback,  who  rode 
up  to  the  door,  and,  after  giving  a  little  three-cor- 


THE  INQUISITIVE  GIRL  73 

nered  note  to  Dr.  Hammond's  footman,  rode  off. 
The  servant  she  knew  to  be  Mrs.  Arden's,  an  in- 
timate friend  of  her  father,  and  the  note  she  con- 
jectured was  an  invitation  to  dinner,  and  the 
guessing  what  day  the  invitation  was  for,  and 
who  were  to  be  the  company,  and  whether  she  was 
included  in  the  invitation,  was  occupying  her  busy 
fancy,  when  she  saw  her  sister  going  out  of  the 
house  with  the  three-cornered  note  in  her  hand, 
and  cross  the  street  to  Mr.  McNeal's  stocking 
shop,  which  was  opposite.  Almost  immediately 
afterwards  Mr.  McNeal's  shopman  came  out  of 
the  shop,  and,  running  down  the  street,  was  pres- 
ently out  of  sight,  but  soon  returned  with  Mr. 
McNeal  himself.  She  saw  Louisa  reading  the 
note  to  Mr.  McNeal,  and  in  a  few  minutes  after- 
wards returned  home.  Here  was  matter  of  won- 
der and  conjecture.  Sophy  forgot  all  her  good 
resolutions,  and  absolutely  wearied  herself  with 
her  useless  curiosity. 

At  length  the  term  of  her  imprisonment  was 
over,  and  Sophy  was  restored  to  the  society  of  her 
family.  At  first  she  kept  a  tolerable  guard  over 
herself.  Once  she  saw  her  father  and  sister  whis- 
pering, and  did  not,  though  she  longed  much  to 
do  it,  hold  her  breath  that  she  might  hear  what 
they  were  saying.  Another  time  she  passed 
Charles's  door  when  it  was  ajar  and  the  little 
study  open,  and  she  had  so  much  self-command 
that  she  passed  by  without  peeping  in,  and  she  be- 
gan to  think  she  was  cured  of  her  faults.     But  in 


74 


She  read  it  with  trembling  impatience. 


THE  INQUISITIVE  GIRL  75 

reality  this  was  far  from  being  the  case,  and 
whenever  she  recollected  Mrs.  Arden's  mysterious 
note  she  felt  her  inquisitive  propensities  as  strong 
as  ever.  Her  eyes  and  ears  were  always  on  the 
alert,  in  hopes  of  obtaining  some  clue  to  the 
knowledge  she  coveted,  and  if  Mrs.  Arden's  or 
Mr.  McNeal's  names  were  mentioned  she  listened 
with  trembling  anxiety  in  the  hope  of  hearing 
some  allusion  to  the  note. 

At  last,  when  she  had  almost  given  up  the  mat- 
ter in  despair,  an  unlooked-for  chance  put  her  in 
possession  of  a  fragment  of  this  very  note  to 
which  she  attached  so  much  importance. 

One  day  Louisa  wanted  to  wind  a  skein  of  silk, 
and  in  looking  for  a  piece  of  paper  to  wind  it  up- 
on she  opened  her  writing-box,  and  took  out  Mrs. 
Arden's  note. '  Sophy  knew  it  again  in  an  instant 
from  its  three-cornered  shape.  She  saw  her  sister 
tear  the  note  in  two,  throw  one-half  under  the 
grate,  and  fold  the  other  part  up  to  wind  her  silk 
upon.  Sophy  kept  her  eye  on  the  paper  that  lay 
under  the  grate  in  the  greatest  anxiety,  lest  a  coal 
should  drop  upon  it  and  destroy  it,  when  it  seemed 
almost  within  her  grasp.  Louisa  was  called  out  of 
the  room,  and  Sophy,  overpowered  by  the  great- 
ness of  the  temptation,  forgot  all  the  good  reso- 
lutions she  had  so  lately  made,  and  at  the  risk  of 
setting  fire  to  her  sleeve,  snatched  the  paper  from 
amongst  the  ashes,  and  concealed  it  in  her  pocket. 
She  then  flew  to  her  own  room  to  examine  it  at 
her    case.     The  note  had  been  torn  lengthway 


76  THE  INQUISITIVE  GIRL 

of  the  paper,  and  that  part  of  it  of  which  Sophy 
had  possessed  herself  contained  the  first  half  of 
each  line  of  the  note.  Bolting  her  door  for  fear 
of  interruption,  she  read,  with  trembling  impa- 
tience, as  follows: 

'Will  you 
be  kind  enought  to  go  to 
Mr.  McNeal,  and  tell  him 
he  has  made  a  great  mistake 
the  last  stockings  he  sent ; 
charging  them  as  silk)  he  has  cheated 
of  several  pounds. — I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  he  has  behaved  very  ill 
And  Mr.  Arden  tells  me  that 
it  must  end  in  his  being  hanged 
I  am  exceedingly  grieved 
but  fear  this  will  be  the  end.' 

When  Sophy  had  read  these  broken  sentences 
she  fancied  that  she  fully  comprehended  the  pur- 
port of  the  whole  note,  and  she  now  saw  the  rea- 
son of  her  sister's  hastening  to  Mr.  McNeal's  im- 
mediately on  the  receipt  of  the  note,  and  of  the 
hurry  in  which  he  had  been  summoned  back  to  his 
shop.  It  appeared  very  clear  to  her  that  he  had 
defrauded  Mrs.  Arden  of  a  considerable  sum  of 
money,  and  that  he  was  no  longer  that  honest 
tradesman  he  had  been  supposed.  The  weight  of 
this  important  discovery  quite  overburdened  her, 
and,  forgetful  of  her  past  punishment,  and  re- 


THE  INQUISITIVE  GIRL  77 

gardless  of  future  consequences,  she  imparted  the 
surprising  secret  to  Sally.  Sally  was  not  one 
who  could  keep  such  a  piece  of  news  to  herself; 
it  was  therefore  soon  circulated  through  half  the 
town  that  Mr.  McNeal  had  defrauded  Mrs.  Ar- 
den,  and  that  Mr.  Arden  declared  he  would  have 
him  hanged  for  it.  Several  persons  in  conse- 
quence avoided  Mr.  McNeaFs  shop,  who  saw  his 
customers  forsaking  him  without  being  able  to 
know  why  they  did  so.  Thus  the  conduct  of  this 
inconsiderate  girl  took  away  the  good  name  of  an 
honest  tradesman,  on  no  better  foundation  than 
her  own  idle  conjectures  drawn  from  the  torn 
fragments  of  a  letter. 

Mr.  McNeal  at  length  became  informed  of  the 
injurious  report  that  was  circulated  about  him. 
He  immediately  went  to  Mrs.  Arden  to  tell  her  of 
the  report,  and  to  ask  her  if  any  inadvertency  of 
his  own  in  regard  to  her  dealings  at  his  shop  had 
occasioned  her  speaking  so  disadvantageously  of 
him.  Mrs.  Arden  was  much  astonished  at  what 
he  told  her,  as  she  might  well  be,  and  assured 
him  that  she  had  never  either  spoken  of  him  nor 
thought  of  him  but  as  thoroughly  an  honourable 
and  honest  tradesman.  Mrs.  Arden  was  exceed- 
ingly hurt  that  her  name  should  be  attached  to 
such  a  cruel  calumny,  and,  on  consulting  with 
Sir  Henry  Askham,  it  was  agreed  that  he  and 
Mrs.  Arden  should  make  it  their  business  to  trace 
it  back  to  its  authors.  They  found  no  great  diffi- 
culty in  tracing  it  back  to  Sally,  Dr.  Hammond's 


">,  A 


78  THE  INQUISITIVE  GIRL 

servant.  She  was  accordingly  sent  for  to  Mr. 
McNeaFs,  where  Sir  Henry  Askham  and  Mr. 
Arden,  with  some  other  gentlemen,  were  as- 
sembled on  this  charitable  investigation.  Sally, 
on  being  questioned  who  had  told  her  of  the  re- 
port replied,  without  hesitation,  that  she  had  been 
told  by  Miss  Sophy,  who  had  seen  all  the  partic- 
ulars in  Mrs.  Arden's  handwriting. 

Mr.  Arden  was  greatly  astonished  at  hearing 
this  assertion,  and  felt  confident  that  the  whole 
must  have  originated  from  some  strange  blunder. 
He  and  the  other  gentlemen  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  Dr.  Hammond's,  and  having  explained 
their  business  to  him,  desired  to  see  Sophy.  She, 
on  being  asked,  confirmed  what  Sally  had  said, 
adding  that  to  satisfy  them  she  could  show  them 
Mrs.  Arden's  own  words,  and  she  accordingly 
produced  the  fragment  of  the  note.  Miss  Ham- 
mond, the  instant  she  saw  the  paper  recollected 
it  again,  and  winding  off  the  silk  from  the  other 
half  of  Mrs.  Arden's  note,  presented  it  to  Mr. 
Arden,  who,  laying  the  two  pieces  of  paper  to- 
gether, read  as  follows : 

*My  Dear  Miss  Hammond^ — Will  you  as  soon 
as  you  receive  this  be  kind  enough  to  go  to  your 
opposite  neighbour,  ]Mr.  McNeal,  and  tell  him  I 
find  by  looking  at  his  bill  he  has  made  a  great  mis- 
take as  to  the  price  of  the  last  stockings  he  sent; 
and  it  seems  to  me  (by  not  charging  them  as  silk) 
he  has  cheated  himself,  as  he'll  see,  of  several 
pounds. — I  am  sorry  to  say  of  our  new  dog,  that 


THE  INQUISITIVE  GIRL  79 

he  has  behaved  very  ill  and  worried  two  sheep, 
and  Mr.  Arden  tells  me  that  he  very  much  fears 
it  must  end  in  his  being  hanged  or  he'll  kill  all 
the  flock.  I  am  exceedingly  grieved,  for  he  is  a 
noble  animal,  but  fear  this  will  be  the  end  of  my 
poor  dog.        'I  am,  dear  Louisa,  yours  truly,  ^^^ 

'Mary  Arden  .^ 
Thus  by  the  fortunate  preservation  of  the  last 
half  of  the  note  the  whole  affair  was  cleared  up, 
Mrs.  Arden's  character  vindicated  from  the 
charge  of  being  a  def amer,  and  Mr.  McNeal 
from  all  suspicion  of  dishonesty.  And  all  their 
friends  were  pleased  and  satisfied.  But  how  did 
Sophy  feel?  She  did  feel  at  last  both  remorse 
and  humiliation.  She  had  no  one  to  blame  but 
herself;  she  had  no  one  to  take  her  part,  for  even 
her  father  and  her  brother  considered  it  due  to 
public  justice  that  she  should  make  a  public  ac- 
knowledgment of  her  fault  to  Mr.  McNeal,  and 
to  ask  his  pardon. 


80 


Agnes  felt  ashamed,  and  hastened  on,  for  her  purse  was  empty. 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG. 

ALICIA  CATHERINE  MAUT. 

4 1  THINK,'  said  Agnes  Clavering,  a  child  of 
A  about  eight  years  of  age — 'I  think  I  should 
like  to  give  that  pretty  blue  bag  I  admired  so 
much  the  other  day  at  the  Bazaar  to  my  cousin 
Laura.  She  likes  blue,  and  I  know  she  wishes 
for  a  new  bag/ 

'You  will  do  very  well,  Agnes,  in  thus  spend- 
ing a  part  of  your  allowance  of  pocket-money,* 
replied  Mrs.  Clavering.  'Laura  is  one  of  the 
kindest  little  girls  I  know,  and,  being  one  of  a 
large  family,  cannot  have  so  many  indulgences  as 
yourself;  and  I  am  always  glad  when  I  see  you 
bear  this  in  mind.' 

'I  shall  give  it  her  on  New  Year's  Day,'  con- 
tinued Agnes,  after  a  few  minutes  of  thoughtful- 
ness,  'for  it  was  on  that  day  of  this  year  that  she 
gave  me  that  pretty  purse  of  her  own  making; 
and  I  shall  buy  a  gold  thimble  to  put  in  it,  and  a 
pretty  little  pair  of  scissors  with  a  gold  sheath, 
and  a  tortoiseshell  box  for  needles,  and  some  ivory 
winders  for  cotton.' 

'All  these  together,'  replied  Mrs.  Clavering, 
'will  make  a  very  handsome  present,  and  I  am 
sure  that  Laura  will  be  much  pleased  with  it. 

81 


82  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

But  do  you  know  how  long  it  is  to  New  Year's 
Day?' 

'No,  mother;  I  do  not,'  replied  Agnes. 

'Nearly  six  weeks,'  said  Mrs.  Clavering;  'but 
you  may  make  your  purchases  the  first  time  we 
walk  through  the  Bazaar,  and  then  you  will  have 
them  ready  against  the  time  you  require  them.' 

Nothing  more  passed  at  that  time  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  blue  bag,  and  that  and  several  follow- 
ing days  being  wet,  there  was  no  opportunity  of 
visiting  the  Bazaar.  During  this  time  Mrs. 
Clavering  and  Agnes  went  to  dine  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Parker,  and  when  Agnes,  on  going  to  play 
with  her  cousins  after  dinner,  saw  Laura's  shabby 
workbasket,  and  heard  her  complain  of  having 
broken  her  needle  and  hurt  her  finger  by  a  hole  in 
her  thimble,  Agnes  felt  very  glad  that  she  had 
happened  to  recollect  what  Laura  wanted,  She 
could  hardly  help  telling  her  what  was  in  prepa- 
ration for  her.  More  than  once  it  was  on  the  very 
tip  of  her  tongue,  and  the  secret  certainly  would 
have  been  revealed  had  not  little  Augusta  Parker 
suddenly  fallen  against  a  table,  which  stood  in  the 
corner  of  the  play-room  and  thrown  its  contents 
on  the  floor. 

'Oh,  Augusta!'  said  Laura,  in  a  tone  of  vex- 
ation; but  she  checked  herself,  and  helping  the 
little  girl  to  rise,  kindly  asked  her  if  she  had  hurt 
herself. 

The  child,  however,  was  unhurt,  and  knowing 
that  Laura  would  be  vexed  at  the  upset  she  had 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  83 

occasioned,  she  crept  to  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
and  began  playing  with  her  Httle  brothers. 

'Oh,  what  beautiful  shells!'  said  Agnes. 
'Where  did  you  get  them,  and  why  did  you  not 
show  them  to  me,  Laura?  I  am  so  fond  of 
shells !'  For  it  was  a  box  of  shells  which  the  little 
Augusta  had  thrown  off  the  table. 

'I  did  not  mean  you  to  see  them  yet,'  replied 
Laura — 'not  till  the  box  was  full ;  but  it  does  not 
signify  now,'  added  the  placid  little  girl ;  and  the 
two  children  sat  down  together  to  examine  this 
little  mine  of  treasures. 

Agnes  was  not  at  all  envious  of  Laura's  box  of 
shells,  but  Agnes  would  very  much  have  liked 
to  have  had  a  box  wdth  shells  placed  in  them  ex- 
actly as  Laura's  were.  It  was  one  of  her  failings 
to  wish  to  have  the  same  toy  or  the  same  trinket 
which  she  saw  in  the  possession  of  other  little 
girls.  It  was  not  her  desire  to  deprive  them  of 
theirs,  but  she  wished  to  possess  something  ex- 
actly similar,  and  it  had  been  her  misfortune  from 
the  moment  of  her  being  able  to  form  any  wishes 
to  have  them  immediately  gratified.  The  conse- 
quence was  that  she  was  whimsical  and  capricious. 
The  favourite  wax  doll  of  to-day  would  be  dis- 
carded on  the  morrow  for  one  of  Vood  if  she  saw 
one  of  that  sort  in  the  hands  of  another.  Her 
playthings  never  pleased  her  more  than  two  or 
three  days,  and  at  the  end  of  this  time  a  string  of 
new  desires  arose,  which  she  knew  would  be  im- 
mediately met,  and  which  consequently  led  the 


84  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

way  to  others.  She  had  only  to  ask  and  have, 
and  this  facility  gradually  produced  a  sort  of  sel- 
fishness which  her  mother  was  vexed  at  perceiving. 
Agnes  was  kind-hearted,  and  always  wilhng  that 
others  should  be  gratified,  but  not  at  her  expense ; 
and  Mrs.  Clavering  saw  that,  while  any  little  pres- 
ent the  child  made  to  her  friends,  or  charity  be- 
stowed on  some  poor  object,  occasioned  no  de- 
privation to  herself,  the  motives  for  both  could 
not  be  pure. 

When  she  had  reached  her  eighth  year,  there- 
fore, early  as  it  might  seem,  Mrs.  Clavering  had 
set  aside  a  purse  for  the  use  of  her  little  girl,  which 
she  told  her  was  all  that  would  be  expended  for 
her  amusements  during  the  year,  and  she  was  anx- 
ious to  see  how  far  this  arrangement  might  be  a 
check  on  the  boundless  wishes  of  the  little  Agnes. 
Hitherto  Agnes  had  gone  on  very  well.  Her 
father's  presents,  in  spite  of  her  mother's  remon- 
strances, had  kept  the  purse  nearly  full,  and  at 
the  latter  end  of  January  it  would  be  again  re- 
plenished. But  her  father  was  now  from  home. 
It  might  so  happen  that  he  would  be  absent  till 
that  time,  and  Agnes  knew  that  she  must  now  use 
her  means  with  caution. 

As  she  was  returning  with  her  mother  home  in 
the  carriafire  from  her  uncle's,  Agnes  said : 

*I  should  so  very  much  like  a  box  of  shells.' 

*And  have  you  not  as  much  pleasure  in  looking 
at  Laura's?'  replied  Mrs.  Clavering.  'And  do 
you  not  think  she  has  some  pleasure  in  showing 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  85 

you  what  you  have  not  of  your  own?  It  is  very 
seldom  indeed  that  she  can  have  this  pleasure,  for 
you  have  everything,  and  a  great  deal  more  than 
she  has.  It  so  happens  in  this  case  that  her 
father's  brother  has  given  her  what  I  think  it 
would  be  hardly  in  the  power  of  your  father  to 
buy,  for  he  brought  them  from  abroad.  And  I 
hope  you  will  be  satisfied  to  see  them  when  you 
are  with  your  cousin,  and  be  very  careful  of  ex- 
pressing any  wish  for  them  before  her.  For  you 
know  that  she  has  more  than  once  offered  you  such 
little  trifles  as  you  have  wished  for  when  you  have 
seen  them  in  her  possession.' 

*0h,  mother,'  said  Agnes,  with  eagerness,  'I 
do  not  want  Laura's  shells,  indeed!  I  only 
wanted  some  like  them.  But  I  will  try  and  not 
think  of  the  shells.' 

*You  should  not  do  this,  Agnes,'  said  Mrs. 
Clavering;  'you  should  try  and  think  of  them 
without  wishing  for  them.  But  here  we  are  at 
home.' 

A  few  days  after  this  a  lady  called  on  Mrs. 
Clavering  to  invite  her  to  go  with  her  to  look  at 
some  old  china,  and  Agnes  received  permission  to 
be  of  the  party.  While  the  two  ladies  were  oc- 
cupied with  the  master  of  the  shop  in  looking 
through  his  assortment  of  china,  the  master's  wife 
very  good-naturedly  busied  herself  with  Agnes, 
and  endeavoured  to  amuse  her  by  showing  her 
many  curiosities  contained  on  her  numerous 
shelves.     Amongst  the  rest  she  exhibited  some 


86  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

drawers  of  shells,  some  of  which  were  so  like  those 
which  Agnes  had  seen  in  Laura's  box  that  she 
began  to  long  for  them,  and  as  the  prices  were 
marked,  and  they  did  not  appear  very  expensive, 
she  whispered  to  her  mother  and  asked  if  she 
might  purchase  them. 

*Can  you  afford  it?'  whispered  Mrs.  Clavering 
in  reply,  and  stroking  at  the  same  time  the  bloom- 
ing cheek  that  rested  against  hers. 

*I  think  I  can,  mother,'  again  whispered  Agnes, 
in  a  very  coaxing  manner. 

'If  you  are  sure  you  can,'  once  more  whispered 
Mrs.  Clavering,  'you  may ;  but  remember  the  blue 
bag.' 

Agnes  returned  to  the  tempting  shell-drawer. 
Mrs.  Clavering  advanced  the  money  to  pay  for 
the  new  purchases,  and  on  their  return  home 
Agnes  begged  her  mother  would  directly  pay 
herself  from  her  own  Durse. 

'And,  mother,'  continued  Agnes,  'I  think  the 
thimble  shall  be  of  silver  instead  of  gold,  for  a 
gold  one  will  cost  a  great  deal  of  money.  And 
I  never  use  a  gold  one,  and  why  should  I  give 
Laura  one?' 

'I  see  no  reason  why,  certainly,'  answered  Mrs. 
Clavering,  'excepting  that  it  was  your  own  propo- 
sal. I  should  have  thought  that  a  silver  one  was 
quite  as  well,  if  not  better ;  but  I  did  not  like  to 
check  your  wish  of  making  a  handsome  present 
to  your  cousin.  Let  it  be  silver,  if  you  please; 
but  take  care  that  you  keep  money  enough  to  pay 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  87 

for  that,  and  the  other  articles  which  you  design 
putting  into  the  New  Year's  present.' 

'Oh,  I  shall  have  plenty  now,  mother,'  returned 
Agnes;  *but  I  think  I  could  not  have  afforded 
the  gold  thimble/ 

And  she  went  to  her  play-room  to  look  at  her 
shells,  put  them  in  order,  and  see  how  many  were 
wanting  to  complete  the  number  which  her  cousin 
possessed. 

It  now  occurred  to  her  that  a  box  to  contain 
them  was  inidspensable,  and  the  footman's 
brother  being  a  carpenter,  she  desired  him  to  get 
one  made  for  her.  It  was  soon  completed,  and 
when  it  came  home,  and  was  paid  for,  Agnes 
found  that  it  had  cost  just  the  difference  between 
a  silver  and  a  gold  thimble.  She  proceeded  to 
place  her  shells  in  order,  but  the  box  was  not  half 
full,  and  while  thus  occupied  a  visitor  called,  who 
was  accompanied  by  her  young  son  and  a  beauti- 
ful little  white  dog,  and  this  little  white  dog  and 
his  master  called  off  her  attention  for  a  while 
from  her  shells. 

The  little  animal  was  very  amusing  and  very 
playful.  He  could  perform  a  number  of  little 
odd  tricks,  and,  amongst  others,  would  patiently 
wait  while  his  younq*  master  counted  ten,  and 
then  would  spring  forwards  and  receive  the  piece 
of  bread  or  biscuit  held  out  to  him.  Agnes 
thought  she  never  could  be  tired  of  playing  with 
such  a  *dear  little  dog,'  to  use  her  own  expression, 
and  she  expressed  her  wishes  so  strongly  and  so 


88  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

earnestly  that  the  httle  dog's  master,  after  whis- 
pering to  his  mother,  told  Agnes  that  if  she  liked 
she  was  very  welcome  to  keep  the  dog,  for  that 
he  was  going  to  school,  and  nobody  at  home  cared 
for  her  but  himself.  Mrs.  Clavering  felt  vexed 
that  Agnes  had  so  warmly  expressed  her  admira- 
tion of  the  dog,  but  she  did  not  see  how  she  could 
decline  her  acceptance,  and  by  this  arrangement 
Agnes  for  the  remainder  of  the  day  had  nothing 
to  wish  for,  excepting,  indeed,  it  might  be  that  the 
chapter  of  the  History  of  England  she  read  to 
her  mother  in  the  evening  had  not  been  quite  so 
long,  and  that  bedtime  had  not  come  before  she 
had  had  another  game  of  play  with  little  Chloe. 

In  the  morning  the  first  thing  to  be  thought 
of  was  Chloe,  and  Chloe  occasioned  in  her  mis- 
tress so  many  wandering  thoughts  when  she 
ought  to  have  been  occupied  with  her  book  that 
Mrs.  Clavering  was  obliged  to  threaten  the  loss 
of  the  new  favourite  before  the  morning  task 
could  be  accomplished.  At  length  Chloe  was 
turned  out  of  the  room,  but  then  Chloe  would  run 
downstairs,  and  into  the  hall,  and  back  again  up- 
stairs, and  scratch  at  the  drawing-room  door  for 
admittance,  and  when  once  more  admitted,  on 
Agnes's  promise  to  let  her  lie  still  quietly  under 
the  sofa,  Chloe  wished  to  go  out  of  the  room 
again;  and  out  of  the  room  once  more,  but  only 
once,  she  was  allowed  to  go.  Then,  on  the  hall- 
door  being  left  open  for  a  minute,  Chloe  was  out 
in  the  street,  and  it  was  with  considerable  dfficulty 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  89 

that  James,  the  man-servant,  could  again  catch 
her.  This  suggested  the  necessity  of  a  collar 
for  Chloe,  and  a  collar,  indeed,  seemed  indispen- 
sable if  the  dog  was  to  be  kept. 

'But  I  am  not  sure  that  I  shall  have  money 
enough  to  buy  one,'  said  Agnes,  as  she  begged 
her  mother  to  examine  her  purse,  and  assist  her 
in  calculating  how  much  the  blue  bag  and  its  fur- 
niture were  likely  to  cost. 

Agnes  thought,  if  father  was  at  home  she 
would  have  had  the  collar  purchased  for  her  di- 
rectly, and  as  Mrs.  Clavering  had  allowed  the  dog 
to  be  accepted,  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  would  not 
be  an  unreasonable  indulgence  to  make  Chloe's 
mistress  a  present  of  a  collar.  She  told  Agnes, 
therefore,  that  she  would  provide  the  little  animal 
with  a  collar,  and  thinking  that  the  sooner  the 
blue  bag  was  bought  the  less  would  be  Agnes's 
temptation  to  encroach  on  the  money  set  aside  for 
its  purchase,  she  directed  her  little  girl  to  get  her 
hat  and  pelisse  put  on,  and  they  would  proceed 
immediately  to  the  Bazaar, 

As  Mrs.  Clavering  and  Agnes  were  crossing 
the  hall,  a  carriage  drove  to  the  door.  It  was 
Mrs.  Montague,  a  particular  friend  of  Mrs, 
Clavering,  and  she  had  called  to  invite  her  and 
Agnes  to  take  a  drive  to  a  bird-fancier's,  who 
had  a  large  collection  of  canary-birds;  for  Har- 
riet and  Eliza  Montague  had  been  promised  by 
their  uncle  that  they  should  each  have  one,  and 
their  mother  thought  that  Agnes  would  like  to 


90  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

go  and  help  choose  them.  The  Httle  girls  had  a 
very  pleasant  ride  together,  and  they  all  thought 
the  birds  very  beautiful,  and  that  they  sung  de- 
lightfully. But  it  was  rather  an  unfortunate  ex- 
cursion for  Agnes,  for  on  her  return  home  Chloe 
pleased  her  no  longer,  and  she  told  her  mother  she 
thought  'a  canary-bird  would  be  a  much  pret- 
tier pet  than  a  rude,  troublesome  little  dog.' 

*And  yet  you  were  very  much  pleased  with 
your  little  dog  yesterday,'  remarked  Mrs.  Claver- 
ing,  'and  to-day  she  looks  much  prettier  with  her 
smart  collar  on,  and  she  frisks  and  gambols  about, 
and  is  as  anxious  as  ever  to  be  taken  notice  of.' 

At  this  moment  Chloe  ran  up  to  her  little  mis- 
tress, and  Agnes  could  not  help  acknowledging 
that  her  collar  was  very  pretty.  She  kissed  her 
mother  for  having  so  soon  obliged  her  by  buying 
one,  and  for  an  hour  or  two  the  canary-birds  were 
forgotten.  The  next  day,  however,  Agnes  had 
been  invited  to  spend  with  Harriet  and  Eliza 
Montague.  The  birds  had  been  brought  home. 
They  looked  even  more  beautiful  in  the  play-room 
than  at  the  bird-fancier's,  and  they  and  their 
cages  together  were  so  very  ornamental  that  Ag- 
sen  thought  of  them  some  minutes  after  she  had 
laid  her  head  on  her  pillow.  In  the  morning  she 
asked  her  mother  if  she  might  not  buy  a  canary- 
bird.  They  were  not  very  expensive,  and  she 
should  like  one  so  very  much.' 

*I  v/ish  my  dear  little  girl,  you  could  learn  to 
see  what  others  have,  and  be  amused  and  pleased. 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  91 

without  always  wishing  to  possess  what  has  given 
you  amusement  and  pleasure.' 

'If  I  can  but  have  a  canary-bird,'  replied  Ag- 
nes, 'I  shall  not  wish  for  anything  else,  and  shall 
be  quite  satisfied.  Do,  mother,  let  me  buy  one. 
Father  would,  I  know,  if  he  were  at  home.' 

'Your  father  is  very  indulgent,  Agnes,'  replied 
Mrs.  Clavering.  'He  sees  you  but  seldom,  and 
never  likes  to  refuse  you  anything  you  wish  for 
when  he  does  see  you;  but  I  should  not  think  you 
a  good  girl  to  impose  upon  his  kindness  by  ask- 
ing anything  of  him  which  I  had  thought  it  bet- 
ter to  refuse  you.' 

*I  cannot  see  why  I  should  not  have  a  canary- 
bird,  mother,'  said  Agnes,  not,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
very  good-humouredly,  'and  I  do  not  wish  you 
to  buy  it  for  me.  I  could  buy  it  myself,  for, 
you  know,  I  have  money  of  my  own.' 

'I  do  not  mean  to  argue  with  you,'  replied  Mrs. 
Clavering,  'for  little  girls  of  your  age  are 
not  always  capable  of  understanding  the  reason 
why  indulgences  are  refused  them,  though  they 
are  quite  equal  to  knowing  that  it  is  their  duty 
not  to  repine  when  they  are  withheld.  However, 
do  as  you  please  about  the  canary-bird.  If  you 
have  money  sufficient  to  pay  for  one,  let  the  bird 
be  bought.  The  money  was  given  you  to  spend 
exactly  as  you  please.' 

Agnes  looked  at  her  mother.  No,  mother  did 
not  look  pleased — she  looked  grave;  and  when 
Agnes's  countenance  once  more  brightened  at  the 


92  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

prospect  of  possessing  the  canary-bird,  Mrs. 
Clavering  neither  smiled  nor  even  looked  at 
Agnes.  She  continued  looking  at  her  work,  and 
her  needle  went  in  and  out  very,  very  fast.  Ag- 
nes walked  up  to  her  mother,  and  taking  her 
purse  from  the  box  where  it  was  always  kept, 
took  from  it  the  money,  and  began  to  count  it. 

Presently  Mrs.  Clavering  said: 

'Well,  Agnes,  what  is  this  beautiful  bird  to 
cost?' 

'Only  five  shillings,'  replied  Agnes. 

*And  have  you  five  shillings  to  spare?'  said  Mrs. 
Clavering. 

*Oh  yes,  mother;  I  think  I  have,'  replied  Agnes. 
*Oh  yes,  I  can  do  it  very  well.  You  know  I 
talked  of  buying  a  gold  scissor-sheath  for  Laura, 
but  I  think  a  leather  one  will  do  just  as  well. 
And  then  I  shall  have  more  than  money  enough 
for  the  canary-bird.' 

'Poor  Laura  1'  said  Mrs.  Clavering.  'I  am 
afraid  she  does  not  stand  a  very  good  chance  of 
having  any  New  Year's  gift.  However,  the 
money  is  your  own,  and  you  are  to  do  what  you 
please  with  it.  But  if  you  did  think  of  others  a 
little  more,  and  less  of  yourself,  Agnes,  you 
would  be  a  much  more  amiable  little  girl.' 

Agnes  for  a  minute  looked  grave,  for  she  saw 
a  tear  in  her  mother's  eye.  But  her  mother  did 
not  look  angry,  and  she  went  on  with  her  calcu- 
lations and  schemes  about  canary-birds  and  cages. 
James  was  commissioned  to  purchase  the  bird 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  93 

SO  much  desired,  and  as  it  was  positively  neces- 
sary that  the  bird,  when  bought,  should  have  a 
habitation  to  live  in,  the  tortoiseshell  box  designed 
for  Laura  was  to  be  changed  into  a  card  needle- 
case,  and  the  next  morning  Agnes's  play-room 
was  adorned  with  a  very  pretty  canary-bird  in  a 
smart  wire  cage. 

The  next  day  Laura  and  Augusta  Parker  came 
to  visit  their  cousin,  but  they  did  not  seem  to  take 
so  much  pleasure  in  the  new  purchase  as  it  was 
supposed  they  would.  They  were  very  willing 
to  assist  Agnes  in  feeding  her  bird,  and  admired 
its  plumage,  which  they  thought  very  pretty  and 
very  soft,  and  they  expressed  no  desire  to  be  play- 
ing with  anything  else,  for  they  saw  Agnes  was 
better  pleased  to  be  taking  down  and  putting  up 
her  cage  than  in  following  any  other  amusement. 
But  they  would  much  rather  have  been  playing 
with  Agnes's  new  doll,  or  looking  at  some  of  her 
story-books,  or  puzzles,  or  play-things,  of  which 
she  had  such  useless  stores ;  and  when  she  did  lead 
them  to  some  of  these,  neither  Laura  nor 
Augusta  thought  more  of  the  canary-bird,  except 
when  it  sang  so  loudly  as  to  prevent  the  little  girls 
from  hearing  each  other  speak.  Indeed,  it  did 
sing  so  loudly  that  nothing  else  could  be  heard, 
and  Agnes  herself  was  at  length  so  tired  of  it 
that  she  was  sorry  it  had  been  purchased.  Her 
dear  cousin  Laura,  too,  who  was  so  gentle  and 
good-natured,  had  lost  part  of  her  pretty  present 
by  the  purchase  of  this  useless  bird,   and  she 


94  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

should  be  ashamed  to  tell  her  mother  she  was 
tired  of  it. 

But  she  did  not  allow  these  thoughts  to  make 
her  miserable,  and  the  three  little  girls  spent  a 
very  happy  as  well  as  a  very  busy  day,  for  Laura 
set  all  Agnes's  cupboards  and  drawers  to  rights 
for  her,  and  looked  over  her  maps  and  puzzles, 
and  placed  the  right  pieces  in  the  right  boxes ;  and 
she  sewed  in  some  leaves  that  were  torn  out  of 
some  of  the  prettiest  story-books,  for  Agnes  was 
very  careless  with  her  books,  and  she  placed 
them  all  in  nice  even  rows  upon  the  shelves.  Then 
she  mended  the  doll's  frock,  and  made  a  very 
pretty  new  doll's  bonnet;  and  Augusta  made  a 
tippet,  all  herself,  even  the  cutting  out  and  fitting, 
though  she  was  only  six  years  old ;  and  she  set  the 
doll's  house  in  order,  and  wiped  the  dust  from  off 
the  little  chairs  and  tables;  and,  in  short,  nothing 
could  be  so  happy  and  comfortable  as  were  the 
three  little  girls  together.  Then  at  last  they 
came  to  the  box  with  the  shells,  but  this  Agnes 
preferred  not  looking  at,  for  she  had  very  few 
shells,  compared  to  her  cousin's  collection,  and 
the  box  was  not  half  so  pretty,  for  Laura's  box 
was  inlaid  with  ivory;  and  as  Augusta  was  seiz- 
ing upon  the  shells  with  her  little  dusting-cloth 
in  her  hand,  Agnes  said: 

*Oh,  leave  those,  Augusta;  they  are  not  worth 
thinking  about.' 

*BTit  I  thought  j^ou  were  very  fond  of  shells,' 
said  Laura. 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  95 

*Yes,  so  I  am,'  replied  Agnes;  'but  not  such  a 
set  as  these.  They  are  nothing  to  yours.'  And 
she  turned  from  them  with  contempt,  and  drew 
Augusta  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  'Come, 
Augusta,  we  will  play  at  mother  and  children.  I 
will  be  your  mother,  and  Laura  and  you  shall  be 
my  children.' 

Laura  and  Augusta  instantly  agreed  to  what 
their  cousin  proposed,  and  for  some  time  the  play 
went  on  smoothly  enough.  But  well  inclined  as 
was  Augusta  to  do  everything  to  make  herself 
pleasant  and  agreeable,  she  did  not  like  to  'pretend 
to  be  naughty'  so  often  as  her  little  mother  re- 
quired of  her ;  and  Agnes,  as  little  mothers,  I  be- 
lieve, frequently  are,  was  very  fond  of  having 
her  play-child  to  punish,  and  set  in  the  corner,  and 
to  lecture  and  scold.  Laura  thought  there  was 
a  little  too  much  disgrace,  and  that  she  had  much 
rather  have  been  allowed  to  be  good;  but  Laura 
never  consulted  her  own  wishes  in  opposition  to 
her  playfellows.  Besides,  Laura  was  a  great  girl 
and  could  not  be  supposed  to  care  abovit  these 
things.  But  poor  Augusta  was  a  very  little  child 
and  had  been  accustomed  to  a  great  deal  of  indul- 
gence from  Laura,  and  she  began  to  feel  very 
serious  at  being  so  frequently  reproved  and  dis- 
graced. She  really  thought  she  must  be  naughty, 
or,  at  least,  that  Agnes  thought  her  so ;  and  after 
her  little  heart  had  been  some  time  swelling  with 
emotion,  she  at  length  burst  out  into  tears,  say- 
ing at  the  same  time,  with  great  vehemence: 


%  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

'Indeed,  Cousin  Agnes,  I  am  not  naughty!' 

*No,  you  only  pretend  to  be  naughty,'  said 
Agnes.  'There,  be  a  good  child,  and  go  in  the 
corner,  and  pretend  to  be  naughty  once  more,  and 
presently,  when  you  have  done  crying,  I  shall 
come  and  ask  you  if  you  are  good/ 

*But,  indeed,  I  am  good  now!'  exclaimed 
Augusta,  resisting  Agnes  as  she  tried  to  lead 
her  back  to  the  corner.  And  I  don't  like  to  be 
naughty!     I  like  to  be  good!' 

'Let  me  be  naughty;  it  is  my  turn  to  be 
naughty  now,  Agnes,'  said  Laura,  stepping  for- 
wards and  taking  Augusta's  other  hand. 

*Oh,  but  it  is  not  half  so  much  fun  for  you  to 
be  naughty,*  said  Agnes;  'you  are  such  a  great 
girl.     Besides,  Augusta  pretends  to  cry  so  well.* 

'I  don't  pretend  to  cry,  and  I  will  not  be 
naughty  any  more!'  said  Augusta,  who  was  now 
irritated'  into  a  violent  pet ;  and  as  she  struggled 
against  her  cousin,  who  attempted  to  draw  her 
to  the  corner,  the  poor  child  was  thrown  dowH, 
and  her  head  hit  against  the  sharp  corner  of  the 
shell-box. 

She  gave  a  loud  scream,  and  Mrs.  Clavering 
and  Mrs.  Parker  hastened  to  the  room.  Laura 
picked  up  her  little  sister,  on  whose  forehead  there 
was  a  severe  bruise.  Agnes  looked  pale  and 
ashamed,  but  no  one  explained  how  the  accident 
had  happened. 

Mrs.  Clavering  caught  up  the  sobbing  Augusta 
and  rang  the  bell  for  cold  water.     The  child  ran 


97 


Agnes  threw  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  her  dear  Laura. 


98  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

to  her  mother,  who  drew  aside  the  curls  which  al- 
most hid  the  bruise,  and  kissing  her  cheek  and 
forehead,  good  humouredly  assured  Mrs.  Claver- 
ing  that  it  was  only  a  trifling  hurt,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  tranquillity  was  restored.  But  Augusta, 
whose  temper  had  been  more  hurt  than  her  fore- 
head, begged  that  she  might  accompany  her 
mother  to  the  drawing-room ;  and  as  the  tea  was 
now  nearly  ready,  Mrs.  Clavering  told  Agnes  she 
might  as  well  bring  both  of  her  cousins  with  her. 
This  arrangement  was  not  very  pleasing  to 
Agnes,  for  she  had  gained  a  half-promise  from 
her  mother  in  the  morning  that  she  should  herself 
make  tea  for  her  cousins  in  a  set  of  beautiful  china 
which  she  had  lately  received  from  Nottingham- 
shire; but  Mrs.  Clavering  saw  from  Augusta's 
manner  of  clinging  to  her  mother  that  something 
of  disagreement  had  taken  place  amongst  the  chil- 
dren, and  as  she  was  aware  of  Agnes's  incHnation 
to  be  the  mistress  of  the  party,  she  judged  that 
it  would  be  better  for  this  evening  that  the  elder 
and  younger  parts  of  the  family  should  make  but 
one  party.  Agnes  was  disappointed — very  much 
disappointed ;  but  she  fortunately  recollected  that 
the  disappointment  was  owing  to  her  own  exer- 
tion of  authority  over  the  poor  little  Augusta,  and 
she  was  wise  enough  to  submit  in  silence.  Mrs. 
Parker,  who  was  always  lively  and  agreeable, 
brought  forward  a  great  many  laughable  stories 
for  the  amusement  of  the  young  party;  and  the 
mortification  of  the  young  tea-maker,  and  the 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  99 

pain  of  Augusta's  forehead,  and,  more  than  this, 
her  anger  against  her  cousin,  had  all  subsided  be- 
fore the  urn  had  done  hissing  and  a  pile  of  plum 
cakes  had  been  consumed. 

This  and  a  great  many  more  days  had  passed 
before  Agnes  paid  another  visit  to  her  purse, 
which  lay  snugly  in  her  mothers'  drawer. 
Neither  had  her  mother's  drawer  been  opened,  for 
Mrs.  Clavering  had  caught  a  severe  cold,  and  for 
several  days  she  kept  her  bed.  During  this  time 
Agnes  was  very  dull,  for  although  she  spent  one 
whole  day  with  her  cousins,  and  another  with  the 
little  Montagues,  there  was  a  great  deal  of  time 
she  was  by  herself,  and  being  a  very  sociable  little 
girl,  she  never  preferred  being  without  a  compan- 
ion. Her  aunt  Parker  invited  her  to  come 
and  stay  with  her  entirely  during  her  mother's 
illness,  but  Mrs.  Clavering  preferred  her  remain- 
ing at  home.  It  was  fortunate  that  she  did  so, 
for  Laura  and  Augusta  Parker  a  few  days  after 
fell  severely  ill  with  an  infectious  fever,  and,  of 
course,  it  was  no  longer  right  that  they  should  be 
visited  by  their  cousin.  They  were  for  some  days 
dangerously  ill,  and  when  they  did  begin  to  get 
better,  it  was  very  slowly,  and  some  weeks  passed 
before  it  was  thought  fit  that  the  cousins  should 
meet.  It  was  also  some  time  before  Mrs.  Clav- 
ering was  sufficiently  recovered  to  leave  the  house 
again,  either  on  foot  or  in  the  carriage ;  but  Mrs. 
Montasfue  frequently  called  for  Agnes,  and  gave 
her  a  ride  in  her  carriage,  and  after  her  own  way 


100  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

was  very  kind  to  her.  But  her  way  was  that  of 
indulging  her,  as  she  did  her  own  children,  in 
every  wish  they  expressed.  Whatever  toys  or 
trinkets  they  wished  for  were  purchased  for  them, 
and  so  unreasonable  had  they  been  in  their  wishes 
that  Mrs.  Montague  had  at  length  been  driven  to 
refuse  their  going  to  the  Bazaar  altogether;  for 
when  there  she  had  not  the  resolution,  as  she 
ought  to  have  had,  to  deny  them  any  particular 
thing  they  had  set  their  minds  on.  For  this  rea- 
son, they  had  not  been  for  some  time  to  this  temp- 
ting repository  of  pretty  things;  but,  finding  that 
their  young  friend  Agnes  was  wishing  to  go 
thither  to  purchase  a  blue  bag,  they  engaged  their 
mother  to  take  them  once  more,  and  a  day  was 
fixed  on  for  the  proposed  treat. 

Mrs.  Clavering  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  be 
sitting  on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing-room  when 
Agnes  came  to  petition  for  her  purse. 

*And  you  have  settled  everything  that  you  are 
to  buy,  have  you  not,  my  little  girl?'  said  Mrs. 
Clavering,  as  she  took  from  the  drawer  the  silken 
purse  and  placed  it  in  the  hand  of  the  eager 
Agnes. 

*0h  yes,  mother,'  replied  Agnes,  scarcely  allow- 
ing herself  time  to  draw  on  her  gloves,  so  anxious 
was  she  to  be  going,  and  she  ran  towards  the 
door. 

*But  Mrs.  Montague  is  not  come  yet,  Agnes,* 
said  Mrs.  Clavering. 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  101 

*0h,  I  forgot/  replied  Agnes,  returning  to- 
wards her  mother.  Then,  telling  upon  her  fingers 
she  went  on:  'Blue  bag,  thimble,  needle-book, 
scissors,  winders.' 

'And  pincushion,'  said  Mrs.  Clavering. 

'Oh  yes,  pincushion;  I  had  forgotten  pin- 
cushion.    Yes,  there  must  be  a  pincushion.' 

'Now,  could  not  you  make  the  pincushion  your- 
self, Agnes?'  asked  Mrs.  Clavering.  'And  the 
needle-case,  I  should  think,  too;  and  Laura  would 
like  them  better  for  your  making  them.' 

'I  do  not  think  I  should  be  able  to  make  them 
well  enough,  mother,'  replied  Agnes;  'and  I 
should  not  like  to  give  anything  clumsy  to  Laura. 
No,  I  think  I  shall  buy  them.' 

'Well,  do  as  you  please  about  this,'  replied 
Mrs.  Clavering;  and  Mrs.  Montague's  carriage 
being  now  heard  to  rattle  down  to  the  door,  she 
gave  her  little  girl  a  hasty  kiss,  and  Agnes  ran 
downstairs  and  was  very  soon  on  her  road  to  the 
Bazaar. 

As  they  drove  through  the  streets  the  little 
Montagues  were  very  eager  in  describing  a  beau- 
tiful new  stall  which  had  been  opened  since  they 
had  been  to  the  Bazaar.  It  was  one  of  French 
toys  and  trinkets,  and  there  were  a  great  many 
very  pretty  and  very  ingenious  things  exhibiting 
there.  There  were  dolls,  and  workboxes,  and 
wire-dancers,  and  puzzles  of  every  description. 
And  so  very  anxious  were  all  three  of  the  little 
girls  to  see  and  admire  what  all  the  little  and  great 


102  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

girls,  too,  of  their  acquaintance  thought  so  very 
well  worth  seeing  and  admiring  that,  when  they 
had  left  the  carriage  and  entered  the  room,  Mrs. 
Montague  could  scarcely  keep  pace  with  the 
nimble-footed  little  party.  They  paced  round 
and  round  the  lower  room,  and  were  just  ascend- 
ing into  the  upper,  when  the  first  thought  of  the 
blue  bag  crossed  the  recollection  of  Agnes. 

*Oh,  my  little  blue  bag!'  she  said  to  her  young 
companions;  and  slipping  behind  them,  stopped 
at  the  stall  where  she  had  before  seen  it  displayed. 

It  was  sold.     This  was  not  the  fault  of  Agnes. 

Should  they  make  another  for  the  young  lady? 
It  would  be  ready  by  to-morrow,  and  it  should  be 
sent  home  to  any  place  she  should  appoint. 

'Yes— no.' 

Agnes  was  in  a  great  hurry  to  go  upstairs  to 
the  French  stall,  and  Harriet  and  Eliza  were 
both  urging  her  to  make  haste. 

*There  will  be  prettier  bags  at  the  French  stall, 
love,  most  likely,'  whispered  Mrs.  Montague; 
*and,  if  not,  you  could  give  this  order  as  you  re- 
turned downstairs/ 

Agnes  wanted  very  little  persuasion  to  des- 
patch her  business  below,  and  the  three  little  girls 
again  quickened  their  pace  towards  the  upstair 
room. 

'How  pretty!'  *How  beautiful!'  *How  curi- 
ous!' 'Agnes  look  here,'  and  'Harriet  see  this'; 
and  'Eliza,  pray  look  at  that' ;  and  'Mother,  may 
I  buy  this?'  and  'Mother,  may  I  buy  that?'  were 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  103 

the  hasty  and  rapid  exclamations  of  the  first  few 
minutes  after  the  young  party  had  arrived  at  the 
famed  French  stall;  and  so  very  much  inclined 
were  all  of  them  to  touch  as  well  as  look  at  every- 
thing that  the  chattering  lady  behind  the  counter 
was  at  length  obliged  in  the  most  civil  and  polite 
manner  to  beg  that  they  would  be  careful,  and 
not  touch  what  they  did  not  want  to  buy. 

But  they  wanted  to  buy  everything,  and  found 
it  very  difficult  to  determine  what  they  wanted  to 
buy  most;  and  whatever  Harriet  and  Eliza  fixed 
upon  for  themselves,  Agnes  thought  that  she 
should  like  the  same  for  herself.  There  was  no 
blue  bag  at  this  stall,  or,  if  there  was,  Agnes  saw 
none,  nor  any  other  bag.  Her  attention  was  first 
drawn  to  a  droll  little  fellow  upon  wires  who 
tumbled  over  and  over  again  as  fast  as  the  eye 
could  follow  him.  Harriet  bought  one  of  these, 
and  Agnes  longed  for  one.  By  the  side  of  the 
famous  little  tumbler  there  was  a  glittering  row 
of  bright  shining  scissors,  and  a  thought  of  Laura 
glanced  across  our  little  Agnes.  But  the  bag 
was  not  yet  bought.  Besides,  the  bag  might  be 
given  without  the  scissors,  and  the  woman  said 
there  were  but  two  of  these  little  tumblers  ever 
made.  Harriet  had  purchased  the  other,  and 
while  Laura  and  the  scissors  made  Agnes  for  a 
moment  hesitate,  a  gentleman  put  his  hand  upon 
the  remaining  tumbler.  Agnes  looked  up  eagerly 
in  his  face,  and  then  at  the  woman;  and  the 
woman  said  she  believed  the  young  lady  was  go- 


104  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

ing  to  buy  that.  The  chance  of  losing  it  deter- 
mined the  young  lady's  wavering  resolution,  and 
the  tumbler  was  paid  for,  and  the  scissors  forgot- 
ten. Then  came  other  things  equally  charming 
and  equally  attractive.  Laura  was  again 
thought  of  in  conjunction  with  a  box  of  splen- 
did thimbles,  a  tray  of  ivory  winders,  and  pin- 
cushions, and  needle-cases  without  number.  But 
she  could  make  the  pincushion  and  needle-case,  as 
her  mother  had  advised  her,  and  her  mother,  no 
doubt,  would  give  her  silk  for  the  purpose;  and 
she  could  make  a  thread-case  on  to  the  pincushion ; 
and  then  she  should  not  want  any  winders.  And 
the  thimble,  and  the  scissors?  Agnes  found  it 
rather  difficult  to  reason  away  these,  but  the  sud- 
den recollection  that  her  father  would  be  home  be- 
fore New  Year's  Day,  and  that  he  would  assist 
her  in  purchasing  what  she  herself  could  not  af- 
ford to  buy,  turned  the  scale  against  poor  Laura; 
and  at  length  all  the  whole  list  of  useful  articles 
designed  for  the  New  Year's  gift  were  by  de- 
grees abandoned  for  a  collection  of  showy  but 
childish  toys,  which  were  to  amuse  their  possessor 
a  day,  but  not  longer,  and  perhaps  not  so  long. 
On  returning  dovnistairs  the  party  again 
passed  the  stall  where  the  blue  bag  had  first  at- 
tracted Agnes's  admiration  on  a  former  visit. 
The  woman  who  was  keeping  the  stall  curtseyed 
civilly,  and  asked  if  she  might  be  allowed  to  make 
another  bag.  Agnes  felt  ashamed,  and  hastened 
on,  for  her  purse  was  empty.     But  the  feeling 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  105 

did  not  continue  painful  very  long,  for  the  little 
party  were  all  in  high  spirits,  and  when  they  were 
reseated  in  the  carriage,  their  tongues  went  fast, 
and  their  merriment  continued  till  they  arrived 
at  Mrs.  Clavering's.  The  carriage  stopped,  the 
step  was  let  down,  and  Agnes,  scarcely  allowing 
herself  time  to  say  good-bye  to  her  companions 
or  thank  Mrs.  Montague  for  her  morning's 
pleasure,  ran  upstairs  and  into  the  drawing-room 
to  show  her  treasures  to  her  mother. 

'Oh,  mother!'  said  the  eager  child,  as  she  flew 
across  the  room,  and  began  to  exhibit  the  contents 
of  all  her  little  packets,  'did  you  ever  see  anything 
so  droll  as  this  pretty  fellow?'  And  the  tumbler 
was  placed  upon  the  table.  *And  I  am  sure  I 
never  saw  anything  half  so  curious  as  this !'  And 
another  paper  packet  was  imrolled. 

'And  how  hot  you  are,  my  poor  child!'  said  Mrs. 
Clavering,  thinking  of  nothing  for  the  first  few 
moments  but  the  heated  countenance  of  her  child, 
and  her  tippet,  which  was  hanging  half  off,  and 
her  bonnet,  which  was  crushed  into  any  shape 
but  its  own.  'Why,  what  have  you  been  doing 
with  yourself?* 

'Only  playing  with  Harriet  and  Eliza  in  the 
carriage,'  replied  the  breathless  child,  at  the  same 
time  shrugging  her  shoulders,  for  now  that  the 
game  of  romps  was  over  she  was  beginning  to 
feel  rather  uncomfortable.  'And  look  at  this  very 
small  wee-wee  humming-top !'  And  another  paper 
was  unrolled.     'And  did  you  ever  see  such  beau- 


1C6  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

tiful  sweetmeats?'  as  the  fourth  and  last  packet 
was  displayed. 

*Well,  and  where  did  you  get  all  these  things?' 
said  Mrs.  Clavering,  as  she  turned  from  the 
heated  child  to  the  treasures  displayed  before  her. 

*0h,  at  the  Bazaar!  There  is  such  a  beautiful 
new  stall  there,  and  it  is  covered  with  such  pretty 
things!' 

'And  do  you  think  that  Laura  will  like  .ese 
things  so  well  as  the  blue  bag,  and  the  rest  of  the 
things  you  talked  of  buying  for  her?  And  do 
you  think  they  will  be  as  useful  to  her?' 

*Oh,  mother,'  began  stammering  Agnes,  'these 
things — mother — are  not — these  are  not  for 
Laura,  mother.  These  are — these  are  for  my- 
self.' 

*Oh,  Agnes,'  said  Mrs.  Clavering  very  gravely, 
*you  have  not  been  spending  all  your  money  upon 
yourself  and  these  foolish  trifles,  and  forgetting 
your  kind,  good-natured  cousin  Laura?' 

Agnes's  fingers  were  now  engaged  in  twisting 
round  and  round  them  the  cotton  from  the  reel  ly- 
ing on  her  mother's  lap,  and  she  felt  and  looked 
very  f oohsh.  For  a  few  moments  nothing  more 
was  said,  but  presently  Agnes  approached  closer 
to  her  mother  and  leaned  against  her. 

Mrs.  Clavering  took  no  notice  of  her  little  girl, 
and  did  not,  as  usual,  encourage  her  endearing 
advances.     Presently  Agnes  ventured  to  say : 

*It  was  my  own  money,  mother,  and  you  said  I 
might  do  as  I  pleased  wdth  it/ 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  107 

However,  Agnes  knew  a  great  deal  better  than 
to  think  for  a  moment  that  this  was  any  excuse 
for  her  selfishness. 

*Yes  it  was  your  own  money,'  replied  Mrs. 
Clavering,  'and  it  certainly  was  given  you  to 
spend  as  you  liked.  But  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry, 
that  I  have  a  little  girl  who  never  considers  aQv- 
body's  pleasure  and  amusement  but  her  own.' 

'The  blue  bag  was  sold,'  said  Agnes,  after  a 
pause  of  a  few  minutes,  during  which  she  had 
been  picking  the  pins  out  of  her  mother's  pin- 
cushion and  dropping  them  one  by  one  on  the 
floor. 

Mrs.  Clavering  took  the  pincushion  gently 
from  the  hand  of  her  little  girl,  and  desired  her 
to  pick  up  the  pins  which  she  had  been  so  care- 
lessly scattering. 

*Aiid  were  all  the  scissors  and  pincushions  and 
thimbles  sold,  too?'  continued  Mrs.  Clavering. 
And  would  it  not  have  been  possible  to  have  had 
another  bag  made,  like  the  one  you  saw  the  other 
day?' 

'Yes,  mother,'  replied  Agnes,  as  she  replaced 
the  last  pin  in  the  pincushion;  'the  woman  did  of-        ^ 
fer  to  make  another,  but  I  had  no  money  left         ^^ 
then.' 

*This  will  never  do,  Agnes,  indeed,'  said  Mrs. 
Clavering.  *If  you  are  allowed  to  indulge  all 
your  wishes  in  this  way  w  hile  you  continue  a  child, 
you  v/ill  grow  up  to  be  a  disagreeable  and  over- 
bearing woman.     Did  you  never  read,    "Whatso- 


108  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

ever  ye  would  that  men  should  do  unto  you,  do 
ye  even  so  to  them"?  Come,  tell  me;  try  and 
recollect.'  And  as  Mrs.  Clavering  spoke  her 
voice  softened,  and  she  laid  her  cheek  on  the  head 
of  her  little  girl,  who  had  seated  herself  on  a  stool 
at  her  feet.     *Did  you  ever  read  of  this?' 

'Yes,  mother,  I  have  read  it  in  the  Bible,'  re- 
plied Agnes,  as  she  turned  round  towards  her 
mother,  and  laid  her  head  coaxingly  on  her  lap. 

'It  was  one  of  the  directions  of  our  blessed  Sav- 
iour,' continued  Mrs.  Clavering,  'and  His  direct- 
ions we  ought  always  to  obey.  Now,  supposing 
that  your  Cousin  Laura  had  determined  to  give 
you  anything  she  knew  you  were  very  desirous  of 
having,  should  you  like  her  to  change  her  mind, 
because  she  fancied  something  for  herself  which 
she  could  not  purchase  without  doing  so  ?  Should 
you  not  think  she  was  unkind  in  doing  so?' 

'Yes,  mother,'  replied  Agnes;  'but  Laura  did 
not  know  I  was  going  to  give  it  her,  and  therefore 
she  will  not  think  me  unkind.' 

'No,  but  you  will  know  that  you  have  been  so,' 
replied  Mrs.  Clavering;  'and  I  know  that  you 
have  been  so,  and  I  am  very  much  hurt  that  you 
are  so,  for,  as  I  have  frequently  told  you,  I  do  not 
like  such  little  selfish  ways  as  you  too  frequently 
indulge.' 

Agnes  did  not  feel  comfortable,  and  she  had 
not  half  the  enjoyment  of  her  new  purchases 
which  she  expected  to  have;  and  she  had  very  little 
pleasure  in  showing  them  to  her  cousins,  who  were 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  109 

allowed  on  the  next  day,  for  the  first  time  since 
their  illness,  to  come  and  play  with  her.  The 
tmnbler  was  not  half  so  droll  as  he  seemed  to  be 
before  she  bought  him.  Augusta,  however,  was 
delighted  with  him.  She  laughed  aloud  at  all  his 
whimsical  changes,  and  Agnes  told  her  that  she 
might  have  it  if  she  liked  for  she  was  tired  of  it — 
not  a  very  disinterested  reason,  but  Augusta  was 
pleased  with  her  present,  and  also  with  the  sweet- 
meats of  which  she  partook,  and  some  of  which  she 
carried  home  to  her  brothers  who  were  never  for- 
gotten. 

New  Year's  Day  was  now  approaching  very 
fast,  and  as  it  did  aproach  Agnes  thought  a  great 
deal  of  the  little  blue  bag,  and  she  longed  for  her 
father's  return,  for  she  thought  that  he  would 
give  her  money  if  she  asked  for  it,  and  still  the 
present  might  be  made.  But  New  Year's  Day 
arrived,  and  no  f  athen  Mr.  Clavering  had  been 
detained  by  business,  and  might  not  be  at  home 
yet  for  some  weeks.  Poor  Agnes  I  her  last  hope 
gone.  An  invitation  to  dinner  arrived  from 
Uncle  and  Aunt  Parker.  It  was  Laura's  birth- 
day, and  the  two  families  generally  on  that  day 
had  dined  together. 

On  the  day  before  Agnes  felt  very  serious  for 
some  minutes  together,  and  when  the  thoughts  of 
the  blue  bag  crossed  her,  none  of  her  playthings 
amused  her,  and  she  was  grave,  and  very  near 
shedding  tears  several  times.    Mrs.   Clavering 


110  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

watched  these  emotions  in  her  little  girl,  but  took 
no  notice  of  them  till  the  following  morning, 
when,  calling  her  to  her  side,  she  said: 

*Agnes,  I  think  you  feel  very  sorry  that  you 
have  been  so  selfish,  and  I  am  sure  that  you  have 
not  enjoyed  yourself  half  so  much  with  the  vari- 
ety of  different  things  you  have  bought  for  your 
own  gratification  as  you  would  have  done  if  you 
had  persevered  in  spending  your  money,  accord- 
ing to  your  first  intentions,  on  your  cousin  Laura. 
Now,  I  do  not  like  that  Laura  should  lose  her 
present,  nor  do  I  wish  that  you  should  suffer  any 
more  mortification  than  you  have  done  for  the 
fault  you  have  committed,  so  that  I  have  been 
endeavouring  to  make  an  arrangement  for  you 
that  shall  enable  you  still  to  oblige  your  cousin. 
You  remember  asking  me  a  day  or  two  since  why 
I  did  not  purchase  new  chimney  ornaments,  for 
that  mine  looked  verry  shabby?  It  was  my  in- 
tention to  have  done  so  yesterday,  for  you  know 
that  I  have  pleasure  in  seeing  the  mantelpiece 
prettily  ornamented,  particularly  as  your  father 
is  always  kind  enough  to  admire  it  when  it  is  so. 
But  I  have  given  up  this  intention  at  present  that 
I  might  use  the  money  which  would  have  been 
required  for  the  purpose  in  a  different  wayj  and 
if,  my  dearest  child,'  continued  the  affectionate 
mother,  as  a  tear  started  into  her  eye,  *I  can  teach 
you  by  this,  or  by  any  other  means,  to  learn  to 
sacrifice  your  own  desires  to  those  of  others,  I 


THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG  111 

shall  never  regret  that  the  money  has  been  em- 
ployed in  the  pm'chase  of  a  little  blue  bag.' 

Thus  saying,  Mrs.  Clavering  opened  the 
drawer  of  her  work-table,  and  exhibited  a  bag, 
the  exact  copy  of  the  one  which  Agnes  had  first 
fixed  on  as  a  New  Year's  gift  for  her  cousin.  It 
was  as  completely  furnished  within  as  it  was  ele- 
gant on  the  outside.  There  was  the  gold  thimble, 
the  gold  sheath  to  the  scissors,  the  tortoiseshell 
needle-case,  the  ivory  winders,  and  the  pincushion 
edged  with  blue,  and  stuck  in  minikin  pins,  with 
the  words,  ^Affection — from  Agnes  to  Laura.' 
Agnes's  little  heart  swelled  with  emotion.  She 
threw  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  her  mother,  and 
sobbed  aloud,  as  she  promised  never  again  to  be  a 
selfish  little  girl. 

*  Your  feelings  now,  my  sweet  girl,  are  strongly 
excited,'  said  Mrs.  Clavering,  as  she  pressed  the 
lovely  child  in  her  arms,  *and  at  this  moment  I 
know  you  mean  to  perform  all  that  you  promise. 
You  will  find  it  difficult,  perhaps,  to  keep  your 
promise;  but  you  must  strive  hard  to  do  so,  and 
in  time  no  doubt  you  will  succeed.  Now  go  and 
get  your  pelisse  and  bonnet  put  on,  for  the  car- 
riage will  soon  be  at  the  door.' 

Agnes  tripped  away  with  light  steps  and  a 
merrier  heart  than  she  expected  would  be  her 
companion  to  her  uncle's.  The  carriage  was 
shortly  after  ready,  and  the  cousins  in  half  an 
hour  were  together.  Oh,  how  grateful  did  Agnes 
feel  to  her  mother  when  Laura  met  her!    In 


112  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BAG 

Laura's  arms  was  the  box  of  shells  which  she  had 
received  from  her  uncle  abroad,  and  which  was 
now  quite  full;  for  Laura  had  denied  herself  ev- 
erything that  she  might  complete  the  collection, 
and  she  now  presented  it,  with  a  feeling  of  calm 
and  quiet  pleasure,  to  her  beloved  cousin.  Agnes 
felt  ashamed  and  pleased,  humbled  and  gratified, 
as  she  threw  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  her  dear 
Laura  to  thank  her,  and  as  she  presented  to  the 
delighted  girl,  in  return  for  her  beautiful  box 
of  shells,  the  thimble,  the  scissors,  the  needle-case, 
the  winders,  the  pincushion,  and  the  little  blue 
bag. 


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Rip  Van  Winkle,  by  Washington  Irving. 

Robin  Hood,  by  H.  W.  Dulcken. 

Robinson  Crusoe,  by  Daniel  Defoe. 

The  Christmas  Tree, 

by  Hans  Christian  Anderson. 

White  Cat  and  Other  Stories, 

by  Madame  D*Aulnoy. 

CXher  volumes  in  preparation 


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